


What Makes A Righteous Man

by AnnieCard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10000 HITS OMG, AU, Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Boys Being Boys, Brotherly Affection, Child Abuse, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Gentle Sex, Hope you like exclamation points, Jimmy and Castiel are twins, John Winchester is a good dad, M/M, NovakTwins, Oral Sex, Protective Dean Winchester, Sexual Abuse, Teen Angst, Tragedy, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, also it's really sad, fluff for days, there's a few
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 47,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieCard/pseuds/AnnieCard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say preacher's kids are the worst; and Rev. John Winchester's eldest son seems determined to live up to the stereotype. But It never occurred to Dean that his riotous living might some day cost him dearly. When Dean's world is suddenly turned upside down by tragedy, he think's he'll never stop paying for his sins. </p><p>Jimmy and Castiel Novak might be twins, but if it weren't for their identical faces, you would never know it. One is a charismatic and the other an introvert. The only things they really have in common are, their notoriously alcoholic father, and the fact that both of their lives were irrevocably changed, for better or for worse, when Dean Winchester walked in.</p><p>In life, there are too many lessons that must be learned the hard way. Like, how to forgive, and what it actually means to be righteous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What I Never Did Is Done

The old adage is, the smaller the town, the bigger the scandal. Dean Winchester’s hometown, Lawrence, was no exception. The old ‘rebel child of a preacher man’ wasn’t the most original reputation that Rev. John Winchester’s eldest son could have enjoyed, but it was the reputation he was stuck with, none the less. And he sure as hell enjoyed it.

Dean was parked two blocks from his best friend Jimmy Novak’s house. He left the engine running as he watched the sidewalk in the rear view mirror. His dad’s ‘67 Impala wasn’t a rattle trap, but her engine did have a distinct sound that Jimmy’s father would recognize if he pulled up outside. This wasn’t conducive to having, the perpetually grounded, Jimmy sneak out!

Dean had been parked on the curb for nearly half an hour, and had all but decided to leave (figuring Jimmy hadn’t been able to give his old man the slip) when he noticed the figure of a silhouette, in a hoodie, trotting down the sidewalk towards the car. Dean leaned over and unlocked the passenger side door. Jimmy was short of breath and a little sweaty when he dropped into the seat of the Impala and pulled off his hood.

“Sorry I’m late.” Jimmy said between huffs. “Thought he would never go to sleep.”

“I almost left your ass.” Dean teased, as he put the car in drive and pulled off the curb. “Thought I was going to have to do this without you.”

Jimmy gave a good spirited laugh. “Like hell!” He said. “You couldn’t find the up end of your own ass without me.”

“Yeah, yuck it up chuckles.” Dean muttered with a smirk, cranking up the stereo, blaring the Allman Brothers as they peeled out of the suburban neighborhood. They rolled down the windows once they were on the freeway and let the smell of summer night air fill the car.

“I can’t believe your dad let you borrow the Impala." Jimmy said as he reverently stroked the upholstery.

“If by ‘let me borrow it’ you mean he left the keys on the kitchen table.” Dean wagged his eyebrows and flashed Jimmy that notorious Cheshire grin.

Jimmy could only shake his head and try not to smile back. “Your dad’s right, I am a bad influence.”

…

Harvelle Farm was on the western most side of town, down a long dirt road called Potter Track, because it used to be the main rail line before the new track was built. The Impala was the only car on that road for miles. In the rearview mirror, the glow of tail lights on the cloud of dust the car was kicking up, looked like some sort of demonic smoke chasing them. Dean had the engine wide open, peddle to the floor. No demons catching him tonight.

A glint of silver in the headlights caught his eye. Dean pumped the breaks, bringing the car to a crawl until he pulled up next to the truck parked in the dead center of a crossroads.

“Is this our guy?” Jimmy asked, craning his neck to get a look at dark cab of the pickup.

“Who else would it be?” Dean threw the car in park and stepped out. Jimmy followed right after but remained on his side of the car with his door still open.

A bone chilling squeal from the bed of the pickup caused Jimmy to jolt, his eyes going wide. “The hell-”

“Might wanna get used to that if you’re planning’ on keeping’ one of these things.” The voice came from a youngish mulleted man, disembarking from the truck. “They like the sound of their own voice.”

“You must be Ash?” Dean asked. “We spoke on the phone. I’m Dean. That’s Jimmy.”

  
“What about Ben and his brother? Where’re they?” Ash said, while rolling a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Oh uh…” Dean shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pair of crinkled hundred dollar bills. “Two hundred dollars the going rate for this sort of thing, or-?”

“The hell should I know.” Ash shrugged. “I ain’t no farmer.”

Jimmy had finally made his way around the Impala and was leaning over the tailgate of Ash’s truck to get a closer look. The hog in the bed of the pickup was easily 400lbs and had a smell that could knock the breath out of you.

“How are we supposed to get this thing across town?” Jimmy asked.

“Shit…” Dean muttered under his breath. Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“That’s your problem.” Ash said with a smirk, shoving Dean’s money into his pocket. “I’ll help you unload ‘em then you’re on your own.”

“Trunk?” Jimmy asked. Dean looked horrified.

“We are not putting that thing in my baby!”

“Holy shit! This is just like you to come up with some half cocked plan and complain when-”

“Fine! Trunk.  But I swear to God if that thing messes up this car…”

…

Principal Crowley was a dick. That’s what Dean kept telling himself over and over on the drive across town to their high school. Stealing his dad’s Impala was going to land him in hot enough water, without the added bonus of using it to smuggle a, more than likely stolen, four hundred pound hog. Every time Dean spotted a vehicle that even remotely resembled a police car, his pulse quickened. This was all going to be worth it because Dean was about to get revenge for four years torment. Payback is a bitch.

Crowley had had it out for Dean from the first day he had set foot in high school. He had been Vice Principle Crowley then. Dean had used a dry erase marker to ‘modify’ the Vice Principal’s portrait photo that hung in the hallway. Really and truly it had been no harm done. Just a little Hitler mustache and some devil horns on the glass. It was easily wiped off. But the damage Dean had done to the man’s pride was the problem. Dean Winchester had to be made an example of.

Thus begun a four year power struggle between two massively inflated egos, that had culminated into what was happening this very night.

The hog was surprisingly docile for most of the ride. It wasn’t until they actually tried getting him out of the trunk that things took a turn for the worse. Using a rope and a few bungee cords, Dean and Jimmy had rigged up a sort of harness and leash, with which they would (ideally) guide the hog. Wrong.

The boys had drastically underestimated the power of a beast weighing more than their combined total, with a low centre of gravity. The moment the hog’s feet touched ground, Dean was yanked off of his. Jimmy was smart enough to realize, regaining control was more than likely a lost cause and decided to let go of his rope. Dean had no such wisdom. He and a steady stream of obscenities were drug across the school parking lot for several yards before he released his rope. The giant pig trotted off in the direction of the football field, leaving a crumpled Dean on the pavement behind.

Dean rolled around on the ground in agony, unable to decide between clutching at his road rashed knees or his shredded elbows. Jimmy was in tears from trying not to laugh.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean spat at him. “Damnit. It’s not funny you asshole.”

“No. No, you’re right.” Jimmy shook his head and bit his lip as hard as he could. But he couldn’t keep his shoulders from shaking with the effort of holding in the roaring laughter that wanted to tear from his throat.

…

It took Dean and Jimmy two and a half hours and several scrapes and bruises to round up the hog, sneak into the school, and lock the beast in Principal Crowley’s office. Dean was instantly rewarded for his labor when the first thing the hog did, once they closed the door behind him, was to leave a mammoth puddle of piss in the middle of the tile floor.

There were still a few hours of darkness left when they made it to Old Mill Creek. They parked and Dean pulled out a couple of celebratory beers he had been saving for when they finished. The beer was warm and tasted like shit but you wouldn’t have known it from watching them, proud as they were; posted up on the hood of the Impala like a couple of teenage kings.

“I can’t wait to see the look on that cocksucker’s face Monday morning.” Jimmy seemed to smile all the time, but Dean could always tell when he was really happy because his smile reached his eyes, forming little crinkles at their corners. “This has to be the best senior prank anyone has ever pulled at this school.”

“Are you kidding me? We’re going to be legends for this." Dean held out his beer bottle by the neck and ‘clinked’ it against Jimmy’s. “If we’re not arrested, that is.”

“That would be unfortunate.” Jimmy muttered into his bottle.

“Ah well…“ Dean gave a tired shrug. “Least they can’t take tonight from us.”

“Hmm.” Jimmy gave a timid nod. “Hard to believe all of this is just going to be one of our best memories someday.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. But Jimmy was right. The feeling of coming off an adrenaline high, the stale, lingering smell of hog on his jeans, the taste of warm beer in his mouth, the dull pain in his limbs. All details he wouldn’t remember ten years from now. But he wouldn’t forget the feeling of a momentary victory, or having a beer on the hood of this car with his best friend. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t.

It had been Dean Winchester and Jimmy Novak versus the world since day one of high school. It was hard for Dean to believe that he had less than a month before senior year was over. This summer would be their last before Jimmy went off to college in Florida. They hadn’t talked about it but Dean knew what that meant.

Against the advice of everyone (Jimmy included) Dean had fooled around and thrown away almost every chance he was ever given to make something of himself. Jimmy had always held out faith in him that he would get his shit together but… it wasn’t enough to keep Dean from doing more than getting by on the skin of his teeth.

Jimmy Novak was by no means an Angel. He had a reputation to rival even Dean Winchester’s. But at the end of the day, Jimmy was just a good kid with a wild streak. He wasn’t in the same sort of ‘going nowhere fast’ boat as Dean. As it turned out Jimmy’s SAT scores were incredible and he was able to land a scholarship to the University of Florida.

Jimmy would be the first Novak in the known history of his lineage to go to college. And if his twin brother Castiel was any indication, he would probably be the last. Jimmy and Cas were physically identical but Dean couldn’t have picked two more completely opposite people to be brothers.

Well…except for maybe him and his baby brother Sam. But there was an age gap between him and Sammy. Jimmy and Cas were the same age. Where Jimmy was charismatic and outgoing, Castiel was stoic and introverted. Apparently they'd both been boy geniuses in middle school, but Cas fell off the wagon somewhere along the way. Dean never really spent much time around Jimmy’s brother. This was mostly due to the fact that Cas had failed the eighth grade, and had to repeat it. Dean had been friends with Jimmy for a year before he ever even met the kid.

While Dean and Sammy had a close knit relationship, despite their differences, Jimmy acted like he and his twin were practically estranged. If Dean didn’t know better, he would assume that they didn’t even live in the same house, for all Jimmy talked about him.

Neither Dean nor Jimmy had ever really been a guest in the other’s home. John Winchester was the pastor of Grace Baptist Church and Zachariah Novak was the town drunk. They had their differences years ago and neither man was too thrilled to have his boy befriend the other. It hadn’t stopped them from getting close. And, in fact, it had probably helped.

“Sun will be up soon.” Dean said, chucking his beer bottle into the creek. “We should get back before anyone figures out we’re missing.”

…

3:30 a.m. in Lawrence had to be the most peaceful time and place in the whole world. The streets were practically deserted and for a moment Dean imagined that he and Jimmy were the only people left.

Dean had to pass his own house, on his way to take Jimmy home. No lights were on, no signs of stirring. Good. Jimmy’s neighborhood wasn’t but a few blocks from his. Just on the other side of the railroad tracks that run through the centre of town.

“Dean?” Jimmy’s voice was thick with exhaustion. Dean looked over to see him slumped against the window. He didn’t even have his eyes open.

“Yeah buddy, what’s up?” Dean asked.

“You know I would do anything for you right?” Jimmy opened his heavy lids, deep blue eyes peeking out at Dean, judging his reaction. “You’ve been more of a family to me than-” Jimmy choked off the end of his sentence. “You’re like a brother to me.”

Dean wasn’t sure where this was coming from. It was kind of concerning him. “Yeah man, I know. We’re family.”

“So if I asked you for a favor-” Jimmy didn’t have to finish before Dean cut him off.

“Dude. You don’t even have to ask. Whatever it is-” Dean watched as Jimmy’s face suddenly went pale.

“DEAN! DEAN!” In an instant Jimmy was sitting upright, eyes wide, pointing directly ahead of the Impala.

It took Dean a split second to turn his gaze upon the figure standing in the dead center of the road just feet in front of them. Dean felt his blood run cold. There wasn’t time to honk or hit the breaks. The only thing he could do was jerk the steering wheel hard to the right and pray. OhGodOhGodOHGOD!

Dean felt the world turn upside down, there was a terrible sound of rending metal and shattering glass…Then it was quiet.

…

Dean had no way of knowing how much time had passed. The first thing he was aware of was the ‘clang clang clang’ sound of a railroad crossing. Then he saw the pulsing red lights from behind his eyelids. When he finally managed to open his eyes, everything was hazy. His vision was too blurry and his hearing too sharp. His head was pounding.

He was minutely aware that he was hanging upside down from the shredded wreck of his father’s Impala. Something had caused him to wreck but he couldn’t remember what? Where had he been going? To Jimmy’s house? He had been taking Jimmy home.

“Ji-m-” for some reason it was hard to speak. It was like a giant was sitting on Dean’s chest. Where was Jimmy? Damnit, Dean couldn’t see anyting.

He rubbed at his eyes and for the first time, realized he couldn’t see because his eyes were covered in blood. The warm sticky substance smeared across the back of Dean’s hand. He had no way of knowing where it was coming from. Or if it was even his. Panic rose in his chest. He tried to see if Jimmy was alright but all he could make out of the passenger side of the car was a blurry crumpled shadow.

Maybe it was because he couldn’t breathe or maybe it was a loss of blood, but Dean could feel his consciousness fading. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the shrill whistle of a train. It was getting closer. It wasn’t until the light from the train engine filled the twisted remains of the car that Dean realized two things…

That when the car flipped, it had landed right in the center of the railroad tracks.

And that Jimmy Novak was dead.


	2. Wake Up Dean Winchester

The sound of sirens roused Sam Winchester from his sleep. They were close. On his street. His eyes popped open when the red and blue flashing lights momentarily flooded his room with pulsing color, as the emergency response vehicles and several squad cars raced past his house.

Sam rolled onto his stomach and reached over to switch on the police radio scanner Dean had given him for his birthday. Sam usually liked to listen in on the scanner while he did his homework. It was a nice, if unusual, backdrop to his studies. Every now and again he would pick up on something interesting: a robbery or a police chase. But mostly all he heard were responses to domestic disturbances.

Sam left the scanner on low volume and rolled onto his back, letting his eyes close again. This was probably a fire. Or maybe some poor sap from across the tracks had over dosed.

It was neither. An eerily calm and collected voice relayed the report to dispatch.

“…10-50 involving two Caucasian males, late teens or early twenties…black Chevy Impala license plate number KAZ2Y5...one critical, one fatality. Requesting immediate…”

One fatality. Fatality. Sam’s heart stopped beating completely! He let out an agonizing scream. He tried to bolt from his bed, get his dad…but he collapsed on the floor of his bedroom unable to move his legs.

“DAD!” panicked sobs threatened to choke out Sam’s cries. “D-Dad!”

John Winchester burst into Sam’s room only to find his youngest son crumpled on the floor, shaking violently and sobbing into his clenched fists. John rushed to gather Sam up off the floor and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders.

“Sam! Sammy I’m here what’s the matter?” John gently shook his hysterical son. “Sammy, talk to me boy! What is it?”

“Dean!” Sam’s face was streaked in tears and saliva. His voice was strained with grief. John Winchester had never seen Sam like this in his life!

“It’s okay Sammy, I’ll get Dean just wait-”

“No Dad! It’s Dean.” John realized Sam’s face was pale and horror stricken.

“What-” John knit his brows in confusion. “What are you talking about Sam, I-”

The phone rang and echoed through the house. John had no idea who could be calling at four in the morning but Sam’s heart sank to his stomach. Sam already knew that was someone calling to tell them Dean was never coming home again.

…

The next time Dean opened his eyes, he was in a hospital bed with a tube shoved down his throat. He couldn’t make a sound and could barely move. The room was quiet, except for the beeps and whooshing sounds of the machines pumping fluids and oxygen into his body.

With his mobility being what it was, he had a limited view of his surroundings. The sterile white ceiling was most of it. There was his IV bags and some bleeping machines and in his peripheral vision he could make out the slumped figure of a man passed out in a chair. His father.

There was a brief moment of confusion as Dean tried to sort out how he came to be here. He searched his memory for the answer, and to his horror, he found it. The image of Jimmy’s cold empty eyes. His lifeless body hanging limply from the flipped wreckage.

Dean felt his throat swell with grief and he would have choked had it not been for the plastic tube in his throat forcing air into his lungs. Dean’s entire body trembled and silent tears streamed down his face, until thankfully, a darkness came and swallowed his consciousness whole.

…

“This was a car accident!” John’s voiced boomed in the hall outside of his son’s hospital room. “You’re telling me Dean is being charged with murder?”

The police officer continued to hold out the unaccepted envelope containing the warrant for Dean’s arrest, and the court order requesting a truancy officer be posted outside of his hospital room.

“Not murder. Reckless manslaughter. Both your son and the Novak boy had alcohol in their systems. If it had been an ordinary car accident…the fact that your son tried to outrun a train…” The police officer nudged the envelope towards John who finally accepted it, but left it unopened. “The DA’s office is cracking down on underage drinking, reckless and drunk driving offenders. I would advise you to seek legal council.”

John’s face was that of a man who was carrying more than he could bare. How was he supposed to get up in front of his congregation every Sunday and tell them to trust him with their souls, if he couldn’t even save his own son?

Raising two boys alone and tending to his flock had been a full time job since Marry had died. Sam was easier to deal with. His problems were just regular kid problems. Sure John’s youngest son had some issues from growing up without his mother but it wasn’t the same as with Dean.

Dean was bitter and resentful. Which would be fine if that was all he was. It wasn’t all, because beneath all of that, he had a good and pure heart. A pure and bitter heart is a terrible thing.

Dean was full of anger and he didn’t know who to be angry with. John could see all of the misplaced grief and guilt being channeled into a dichotomy of shouldering responsibilities that were not his and a self destructive form of atonement for sins that were not his.

Dean believed it was up to him to make it up to Sam for loosing his mother. He felt he must do penitence for surviving.

How had Dean become this? ‘How did I get this so wrong?’ John wondered.

“Is this-” John had to fight the urge to break down. His hands shook with the effort. “Is this guard at his door really necessary? He’s practically in a coma. He’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s just a procedural precaution and it’s not up to me. I’m sorry.” The officer seemed genuinely sympathetic.

John gave a solemn nod and went back to his son’s bedside.

 

…

There was no sense of time passing or a chronological order to events. Dean only knew that mostly his world consisted of drug induced dreams, an aching void and sometimes there were voices echoing in the deep.

Sometimes the voice was his father’s. He could hear him choking back tears and taking the blame for everything that had ever gone wrong in Dean’s life. Sometimes it was Sammy’s voice, pleading with him to come back. Begging Dean not to leave him alone. Sometimes there were doctors and sometimes there were ghosts. It became impossible to tell the difference.

The worst was when he heard Jimmy, asking him to just do this one thing for him! It was really important! But Jimmy never told Dean what it was he wanted. He just stood there, starring at him, with his completely black eyes, asking over and over again for Dean to do something.

‘Damnit I can’t help you Jimmy! I don’t know what you want me to do!’

By the time Dean recovered enough to be taken off the respirator he was staying awake for longer than ten minutes at a time.

The doctors told him he had broken thirty-seven bones, including four ribs. His spleen had to be removed and his lung had collapsed.

His father told him it had been a week since Jimmy was buried.

Sammy told him that he loved him and was ready for him to come home.

But nobody told Dean that this nightmare was far from over.


	3. Convictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that I am not an expert on legal proceedings or Kansas State laws.

In the months Dean was recovering in the hospital, the DA’s office was at work whipping the local press into a frenzy. The media painted Jimmy as the victim of willful delinquency, calling his death a “senseless act of recklessness” among other things. Despite Dean’s insistence that the wreck was caused when he swerved to avoid hitting someone, who was standing in the middle of the road, the evidence was stacked against him.

The police were never able to locate the allusive pedestrian and furthermore, there was the train conductor’s statement that the collision was caused when Dean tried to out run the train. On top of all of that, his and Jimmy’s tox-screens had come back positive for alcohol. It didn’t look good for Dean.

But a lot of things about the prosecutor’s case didn’t add up, like: if the conductor had to stop so suddenly when Dean allegedly drove onto the tracks, why hadn’t the collision with the train been worse? And if the train had hit the Impala on the driver side of the car, then why had Jimmy died when Dean was thrown from the vehicle? Dean couldn’t even remember being thrown from the car. He had lost conciseness before the collision occurred.

Dean’s lawyer, started working right away to build a counter case; asking that the train conductor’s employment record be pulled for discrepancies, and having a specialist examine the wreckage to try and determine the speed of both vehicles upon collision. Most of the evidence was going to be speculation and circumstantial. What little solid physical evidence they would have, was based on the results of new and error prone science.

The only really good news was that Dean was being tried as a minor and there was a limit to the possible severity of his sentencing. At the most, Dean would do five years. But five years was long enough, and the DA was pushing for the maximum penalty!

John was as cooperative with Dean’s council as possible, doing everything that was within his power to help his son. Between preparing for Dean’s trial and fulfilling his other duties as a father and a minister, the man barely slept.

Dean, on the other hand, couldn’t have been less interested in his fate. He was emotionally conflicted to the point of exhaustion. On the one hand he was angry, because everyone believed had had just carelessly thrown Jimmy’s life away, and that couldn’t have been further from the truth! And on the other hand, a crushing debt of guilt told Dean that it was his fault that his best friend was dead and that whatever punishment he got, he deserved. But mostly Dean just wanted Jimmy back.

The worst part was knowing that he hadn’t been there for any of the aftermath. Jimmy’s funeral or the memorial services held at school or the vigils by the tracks. He had just slept through the whole thing, like he did with his alarm clock on Mondays. The whole community had mourned his best friend and put him to rest while Dean Winchester slept.

…

Dean was finally released from the hospital just a week before his trial. The initial hearing had been held without his physical presence and the Judge had ruled that Dean would be released to his father until the date of his trial. John hoped that being home would bring Dean back around, but it hadn’t. He was just as stoic as he had been, since waking from the accident. John could see it starting to affect Sammy too.

Sam had heard the accident reported over his police scanner and immediately thought he had lost his brother. John wasn’t sure when Sam cried harder: when he thought Dean was dead or when he found out he was alive. Sammy sat next to his big brother in the hospital for a week. He refused to eat or sleep or leave, even to go to school. The first time John was able to convince him to go home and get some rest, was the day that Dean opened his eyes for the first time. It had only been for a few minutes but John could see his youngest son was filled with relief.

When Dean finally woke up, he wasn’t the same. Sam would try to make him smile, and because it was Sam, he would… but there was no light in his eyes and no warmth in the smile. Sammy could tell something was wrong. Dean was a little broken. The youngest Winchester was so sure it was something time would heal but as time wore on and Dean wasn’t getting better, Sam’s faith started to waver.

…

The day of Dean’s trial, they had to drive past his high school to get to the court house. The flowers were all wilted by then, but Dean could see where the front steps had been turned into a shrine for Jimmy. Dean cracked a smile for the first time.

‘Wherever you are I hope you’re getting this.’ He thought.

In life Jimmy had only a handful of friends. And now he was the most popular kid in school. Funny how that happened. People who never knew him, left flower reefs saying ‘we miss you’ and ‘rest in peace’ on them. If he could see this he would get a kick out of it.

Sammy caught a glimpse of Dean’s little smirk. And though he didn’t know why, it was the first signs of life he had seen in Dean for months, so he smiled too. John caught the image of his boys’ grins in the rearview mirror and he felt his heart get just an ounce lighter. None of them acknowledged it and none of them could know that it would be the last smile they would share for a long, long time.

…

It took less than two months for Dean’s trial to be wrapped up. As expected the trial was a political circus. The completely legitimate arguments of the defense council were swallowed by a sensationalist public outcry! It was pretty clear early on, that what they were up against, they didn’t have the fire power to fight.

“This isn’t a trial, it’s a witch hunt!” John told their lawyer after a particularly rigorous day of proceedings.

The outcome was as expected. Dean was found guilty.

John felt utterly defeated and Sam was devastated. Dean didn’t seem to be surprised.

A week after the verdict was declared, they were back in court awaiting the Judge’s sentencing. His decision shocked everyone.

“Dean Winchester, you have been charged and found guilty of reckless manslaughter. You are a minor, and in accordance with Kansas State law, you have been tried as such. For your crimes I am ordering you to serve a minimum of six months in Strickland Juvenile Detention Centre where you will have weekly, court ordered, sessions with a court appointed therapist. Your time in Strickland beyond six months will be directly affected by your behavior and progress.

  
It is my experience that young people who make bad choices grow up to be old people who make bad choices. I do not feel as District Attorney Roman does, that a maximum penalty is the answer to this problem. I believe that, given the right tools and opportunities, people are more likely to change than if you punish them. Besides Dean… I don’t think there is anything I could do to you that would punish you more that you’ve already done to punish yourself.”

Dean felt hot tears on his face. Six months with a therapist was the only price you had to pay for killing someone you love? He could feel something that was broken inside him shatter, when the Judge pounded the gavel.


	4. Homecoming

Dean was in Strickland for a year. Two days before his six months were up, he got into a fight. He got six more months.

Sam wrote him a letter every week, telling him about school and their dad and how he had joined the mock trail club. Sam thought maybe he wanted to be a lawyer. He wrote about a pretty girl in his History class, Jess, who was interested in their club and was thinking about joining. He told Dean that he almost had dad convinced to get him a dog and could Dean put in a good word for him. But Dean didn’t because Dean never wrote back. Sam never stopped writing Dean even though he never got any letters back. The only letters anyone got from Strickland were the notes Dr. Alastair, Dean’s therapist, sent to John concerning his progress and mental well being.

John and Sam were supposed to be able to have visitation with Dean every other month but something always ended up happening and Dean’s visitation’s were canceled. John put up with it for the first six months but when Dean was appointed six more months at Strickland he brought down the wrath of his lawyer, who arranged for him to have a thirty minute phone call with Dean, in lieu of physical visitation.

John was relieved to hear his son’s voice on the phone for the first time in upwards of six months.

“Hey son! You hangin’ in there?” John asked.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good. How’s Sam?” Dean didn’t sound like himself. His voice was cold and mechanical. His tone was completely detached.

“He’s good. Great actually. That kid is a genius, I think you would be proud of him.” John paused for a moment. “Listen, Dean. Is everything okay? I mean… is there something going on I should know about or..?”

“Everything is fine.” Dean was stonewalling him.

“I guess I’m just trying to figure out why someone would get into a fight a few days before they go home?” John was trying to tread carefully but his frustration over the whole situation was boiling over. Everything from the cancelled visitations to the snide little notes he got from Dean’s therapist to the fight was slowly eating away at his patience and he wanted answers. “It just doesn’t make sense son.”

Dean wasn’t giving John anything. There was just a long and awkward silence before Dean spoke again.

“Listen, dad. Tell Sammy thanks for his letters. I would write him back but uh… there isn’t really anything that goes on in here I wanna tell him about, ya know?”

John only got one other phone call with Dean after that. It was just as brief and vague as the first.

The next time John Winchester spoke to his son, was when he picked him up from Strickland the day Dean was released.

…

The drive home was quiet until Dean noticed his favorite high school hang out had been dozed and replaced by a chain restaurant.

“Hey what happened to Frank’s Dive In?” Dean sounded truly appalled!

“Progress.” John scoffed dryly.

“Man.” Dean shook his head regretfully. “I bet Sherriff Mills was upset. She always said Frank’s was the only place in the tri-county area that got a mushroom Swiss burger right.”

“Yeah well…” John shrugged. “Sherriff Mills isn’t Sherriff Mills anymore. She's Councilwoman Mills now.”

“No kidding.” Dean didn’t say much else after that.

A year had changed Dean a lot. He was a little taller and broader. More hardened and quieter. John couldn’t tell for sure but Dean seemed better than when they last spoke. It had been a year and a half since Jimmy’s death and in all of that time, John had almost forgotten what his son was even like before the tragedy.

He had almost forgotten about the charismatic boy who didn’t hesitate to make a joke at the worst possible time, who found every excuse to skip out on church because religion was for suckers but absolutely worshipped anyone who could make a good hamburger. The boy who knew the lyrics to every classic rock song under the sun, and could tell you more about a classic car than most mechanics, but who couldn’t tell you the last name of the past five girls he dated. John hopped he was getting some of that boy back.

Watching Dean from the corner of his eye, John thought he saw some of the old Dean shinning through all of the shit he’d gone through.

…

The house smelled like burnt apple pie when Dean walked through the door. He dropped the military style canvas duffle, containing his meager belongings, on the floor and made a b-line straight for the kitchen. Sam was standing over a billowing pillar of smoke coming from what was obviously a heap of charcoal in a pie pan, frantically waving a pair of oversized oven mitts around!

“Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes snapped up at the sound of Dean’s voice. The younger boy practically sprinted across the room, nearly knocking Dean off his feet with the force of his hug.

“God Dean it’s so good to have you home!”

Dean felt his chest tighten with emotion. He had been worried that Sam might not have such a warm greeting for him, considering that Dean hadn’t wrote to him or spoken to him, not once, in a whole year. Not that Dean could have even if he wanted. But he would never be able to explain that to anyone.

“It’s good to be back buddy.” Dean slapped Sam solidly on the back before pulling him back to take a look at him. “But this can’t be right? You couldn’t possibly be Sam Winchester because Sam Winchester is a scrawny little punk and you’re almost as tall as me.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “And to think, I almost felt bad about burning your welcome home pie.”

Dean eyed the conspicuous looking lump of charred remains on the kitchen counter. “Oh. So that was supposed to be a pie?”

Sam punched Dean in the shoulder. “Jerk.”

Dean punched him right back. “Bitch.”

…

“It’s a good job to get you started…if you’re interested.” John said over dinner a few weeks later. “It might be good for you to get back into a routine.”

“And Bobby doesn’t care that I didn’t graduate from high school, right?” Dean had attempted to earn his GED in Strickland but… things hadn’t worked out that way.

“He knows you have a good education where cars are concerned. Hell, he taught you most of what you know himself. You don’t need a diploma to get started but… I still want you to think about going back to school.”

“Dad-” Dean started to protest but John held up a hand.

“I just said to think about it, son. The choice is obviously yours but I’ve talked to Principal Crowley and he’s more than willing to let you come back and finish your senior year.”

Dean already knew there was no way in hell he was going back to school but he told John he would think about it anyway.

…

Working for Bobby turned out to be really enjoyable for Dean. He loved the cars and the freedom and privacy of seclusion. He loved that he could listen to his favorite music all day at work and have a cold beer on his lunch break. But mostly Dean liked that his mind and body were so busy all day that by the time he got home he would have just enough energy to eat and shower before he crashed. Exhaustion and sore muscles usually made for a solid night’s sleep. Something Dean valued very much.

Dean rarely enjoyed restful sleep since Jimmy died. Almost every night Dean would have some variation of the same nightmare. He would relive the night of the wreck, the conversation he was having with Jimmy just before Dean swerved and flipped the car.

Only it wasn’t really Jimmy. It looked like Jimmy, except for his eyes, which were completely black in his dreams. He never actually dreamed about the wreck its self. He would always wake up in a cold sweat when Jimmy would look at him with those blacked out eyes and ask him, “Will you do this for me Dean? Please?”

Dean had almost gone insane trying to figure out what it was Jimmy had wanted him to do! He felt a little guilty that he spent so much time obsessing over it. Dean felt extremely guilty that, not knowing was his greatest regret.

The dreams came fewer and farther between, the harder Dean worked. Bobby started to worry that he was pushing himself too hard and mentioned it to John. Dean assured them both that he was fine and they let it alone.

A few month after Dean stated working at Singer Automotive Salvage and Repair, Bobby gave him a surprise.

“Oh baby…” Dean sounded heartbroken when he saw the mess that was left of his dad’s Impala.

“You’ve been working your ass off but now it’s to the point that I don’t know when I’ll have more work for you.” Bobby said, readjusting his ball cap. “I figured you might as well get started on this.”

Dean thought that repairing the car Jimmy had died in might have been too traumatic to deal with, but in truth it turned out to be therapeutic. Putting that car back together gave Dean a purpose. Something Dean hadn’t ever had, for as long as he could remember. It made him feel like maybe he could undo some of what he had done.

Slowly, piece by piece, and one car part at a time, Dean started putting his broken life back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this is supposed to be a Destiel fic and Cas is going to be in the next chapter I swear! I know it has been a long time building but it's going to be worth it... I hope.


	5. I'll Keep You Alive If You Show Me The Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decided to pay Jimmy a visit.

It was late in October when Dean finally decided to visit Jimmy’s grave.

“Sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Sam asked, as Dean climbed into the old pickup he used for work.

“Nah Sammy I’m good. Thanks though.” Dean slammed the door and propped his arm on the open window seal of the truck. “Maybe we make some popcorn…put in a movie when I get back?”

“Sure Dean.” Sam shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and watch his older brother pull out of the driveway.

Dean thought he looked a little lost. He couldn’t blame him. Dean knew that all Sam wanted was to be helpful, but the kid just had no idea how he was supposed to do that. And Dean didn’t know how to help Sam feel better about it.

And it wasn’t just Sam, it was his dad too. The way they both treaded so lightly around certain topics or eyed him with barely concealed anxiety; it was like he was a bomb and at any moment they could do something wrong and trigger an explosion. Bobby was the only person who didn’t act like Dean was made of glass.

If he was honest, Dean knew that he’d hardly done anything to put his family’s minds at ease. Just saying, ‘I’m fine’ actually made things worse. But Dean WAS fine, really. He wasn’t great! Or Awesome! But he was fine.

Sure, there wasn’t a day that went by where Dean didn’t think about Jimmy. He doubted that day would ever come. But the wound wasn’t so fresh anymore. Now it was just a bittersweet ache. A very dull emptiness that only tugged on him if he thought about it for too long.

There were still moments where Dean felt the void of where his best friend should have been. Moments like when Dean would think of something he wanted to tell Jimmy, before he realized he would never get the chance. Or when he had a dream. Dean would feel a swelling knot form in his throat, threatening to choke him in grief. Most of the time he could swallow it down. Sometimes he broke.

But those moments were few and far between. And Dean didn’t mind them really, because part of him was glad he could still feel the loss. Part of him felt that it was right. Dean never wanted to wake up one day and not miss Jimmy.

…

 

The cemetery was aflame in fall foliage.

Sam had drawn a little map on a scrap of paper, showing Dean about where Jimmy’s grave was located. It was near the middle of the cemetery. About thirty yards to the right of a gigantic maple tree, that rained orange and yellow leaves on the nearby headstones.  
Dean almost didn’t notice it because he was looking for a headstone that read ‘Jimmy Novak’ rather than Jimmy’s full and proper name.

“James Emanuel Novak, huh?” Dean cracked a smirk and shook his head. “Damn, Jimmy! You been holding out on me.”

Dean wondered why he never knew Jimmy’s middle name was Emanuel? Not that he found it hard to figure why Jimmy wouldn’t want to publicize it. Then again, knowing what little he did of Jimmy’s family, it wasn’t the worst name he could have ended up with.

Dean stood awkwardly in front of the headstone, wondering what to do next.

A cold wind rushed past Dean, carrying the colorful casualties of Autumn, causing him to burrow into his own coat. Hands deep in his pockets, Dean’s fingers traced the worn felt of the tennis ball he’d brought. When the winds died down, he sat cross-legged on top of where Jimmy was laid to rest and bounced the ball off of his headstone, catching it, and throwing it back.

He sat there for the longest time, debating whether or not he was going to say anything, when finally he did.

“Hey buddy. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I had some stuff to take care of first.” Dean paused to clear his throat.

“You know, until just now, I was terrified to say anything. Afraid I was going to feel ridiculous, I guess. But I mean… you’re Jimmy…if I can’t talk to you who can I talk to?” Dean shrugged.

“I might not have known your middle name but…I knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t let a little thing like ‘being dead’ get in the way of our friendship.”

Dean sat with Jimmy for what must have been hours. He tossed the ball back and forth with his headstone and said everything he wished he’d said. He told Jimmy about how tall Sam was and about his new job with Bobby. Dean even told him about the things that happened in Strickland. Things that his own brother hadn’t been able to get out of him. Dean told Jimmy that he missed him and that he was sorry, but then he couldn’t say anymore because he was choking and his face was wet.

It took a little while for Dean to compose himself. When he finally felt like he could speak again, he wiped his face on his sleeve and once again, cleared his throat.

“Listen, Jimmy…I don’t know if you’re here or…floatin’ on some damn cloud somewhere with a bunch of naked babies playing harps! I don’t know if you can even hear me at all but…if you can, could you maybe find a way to tell me what you were going to ask me for that night?”

Dean sat very still and quiet for a long time. He didn’t know what he expected. That Jimmy would appear to him or that he would hear a voice or somehow just know what it was he was supposed to do? But there was no apparition, no voice, no divine insight. There was just the hollow moan of the wind.

There were only a handful of people that Dean couldn’t bare to let down. Sammy. His dad. Bobby Singer. Somewhere in the last four years, that little goof Jimmy had weaseled his way onto that list. The guy was practically family! Something that meant a lot to the Winchesters. There was no excuse for not fulfilling Jimmy’s last request. Not even, not knowing what it was.

“I’ll do it. You know I’ll do whatever it is.” Dean’s voice grew thick and earnest. He just wanted some sort of s-

"Ehem!" From behind him, the sound of someone clearing their throat snapped Dean to attention. He was up off the grave and turned around in seconds.

He felt his blood go cold, a shiver slip down his spine as he stared into those unmistakable blue eyes.

“Jimmy.” Dean said so low it was practically a whisper.

The young man furrowed his brows. “No. Sorry.”

It took Dean a second to register what he had missed. The boy had Jimmy’s face, but on second glance, there were some obvious differences. This version of Jimmy was weary, slack faced with rigid posture. And he didn’t have that twinge at the edge of his eyes; the constant threat of a smile. Like him, his coat and jeans were worn threadbare. His lips were pale and cracked and the hallows of his eyes were dark. He was clutching a clay pot, filled with dirt and nothing else, that Dean could see.

Castiel.

He shifted uncomfortably under Dean’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your…conversation.” His eyes shifted awkwardly in the direction of Jimmy’s headstone. “I was just going to leave this here.”

Dean’s mouth was slack, still reeling from the initial shock of seeing what he thought was the ghost of his fallen friend. He just sort of, side stepped, to let Jimmy’s brother past him.

Castiel nodded and made his mouth into a straight line that wasn’t exactly a smile, but was definitely less of a frown. He arranged the pot on Jimmy’s grave and stood back just…looking at it with this glazed over expression.

Somewhere in his stunned brain, something reminded Dean that he hadn’t said anything this whole time, and that just standing there silently, watching Castiel might just come off as creepy. But what could he say?

The longer Dean stood there the more panicked he became. Why the hell hadn’t he just walked away by now? This was fucking awkward!

Castiel looked over at Dean, a little surprise and confusion registering on his features. Probably wondering what Dean was still doing there? Good question! Dean gave him a curt nod and turned to go.

He got a few feet away and stopped. Without turning around he said, “I’m sorry” before he sprinted off in the direction of his truck.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being here. I’m sorry for making it awkward. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry for killing your brother. I’m sorry I can’t bring him back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Dean had no idea which sorry he meant. Probably all of them.

…

Sam picked out ‘Lethal Weapon’ and put it on in the living room. Dean, who usually lived to provide colorful commentary, was oddly silent. He didn’t seem upset, but he was deeply distracted by something. Half way through the movie someone knocked at the door and John went to answer it. Sam took the opportunity to ask Dean what was going on.

“Dude! You’ve not made the first crack about Mel Gibson’s hair in forty-five minutes. What gives?”

“Huh?” Dean looked at Sam like he was completely lost.

“Is everything alright? You’re just…not here.” Sam had that same lost puppy look on his face he’d been wearing around since Dean got out. Dean hated that Sammy had to worry about him like that. He needed his kid brother to go back to being a kid and stop trying to look after him. But that wasn’t going to happen if he didn’t open up to Sam.

“I ran into Jimmy’s brother at the Cemetery.” Dean said.

Sam raised a brow. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“How did that turn out?”

Dean scoffed. “Not great. I stood there starring at him all creepo like and then I apologized and ran off.”

“Apologized for what?” Sam asked.  
“You know…killing his twin brother and ruining his life.” Dean gave a sarcastic shrug.

“Dean.” Sam shook his head at his big brother.

“What?” Dean snapped. “If I can’t joke about it with you, then who am I s’pose to joke about it with?”

“Uh..” Sam cut his eyes at Dean chidingly. “Or, ya know, you could try actually dealing with it instead of-”

“I am dealing with it!” Dean shut Sam down.

“Dean.” John’s voice came from behind them and they both looked over the couch at their father. “There’s someone at the door for you.”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Sam knitted his brows and cocked his head as if to say ‘who?’ Dean just shrugged and shook his head.

…

Castiel Novak was standing on the Winchester’s steps.

Dean couldn’t have been more caught off guard. What the hell was he doing here? What did he want? Was he pissed that Dean had showed up at Jimmy’s grave? A million questions racing through Deans mind suddenly came to a halt, when Castiel held out his hand.

He was holding a green tennis ball.

“You left this. At the cemetery.” He said, holding out his simple offering. “I didn‘t know if it was…important.”

Dean just starred at him dumbfounded, until Castiel finally cleared his throat, the unaccepted ball still in his outstretched hand.

“Oh uh…” Dean took the ball and gave him a nod. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel cocked his head ever so slightly and gave Dean a confused squint. “Cas?”

“Yeah… you’re brother called you that…when he talked about you.” Dean gave Cas a confused look of his own. “Sorry. I just thought that’s what you liked to be called.”

There was a hint of a twitch, at the corner of Cas’ lips.

“I do.” He said abruptly. “It is.”

“Okay.” Dean said.

The two of them stood there awkwardly for a moment that seemed to yawn and then Cas shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk off.

“Hey Cas!” Dean called after him. He stopped and turned but didn’t reply. “I’m sorry. About Jimmy.”

Cas just nodded. “You already said that Dean.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah but…I am.”

“Me too.” said Cas.

And as suddenly as he had come he was gone.


	6. Another Day In Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets the chance to return the favor for Cas bringing back his tennis ball.

It was late when Castiel walked through the front door of his house. So he wasn’t expecting for his father to be awake. Cas made it all the way through the dark living room, and to the bottom of the stairs, when the lights came on. He froze with his hand on the rail and one foot on the bottom step. He didn’t dare speak or turn around.

“Where’ve you been boy?” His old man had been hitting the bottle pretty hard from the sound of his slur.

“I just went for a walk.” Cas didn’t tell his father where he’d really gone. He had long since learned not to mention Jimmy’s name. Castiel slowly turned to face his father. The steely eyed, drunk was seated in his usual chair, still dressed in his work clothes, a mostly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Cas was sure that bottle had been untouched last night.

That wasn’t good. Whiskey made him mean.

“You forget something?” His father asked.

Castiel felt a hitch of panic in his chest. What had he forgotten to do? He combed his memory for any inclination of what his father was talking about! Had he been given some instruction he had failed to carry out? Had he forgotten one of his chores? Had someone called and left a message he hadn’t relayed?

Apparently Cas was taking too long to come up with the answer.

“The trash?” Zachariah’s voice was somehow both calm and menacing.

Cas dropped his eyes to the floor. “I was certain I took it out before I left.”

“Oh…you did! Forgot to secure the lids though.” Cas didn’t need to see his father’s face to imagine the look in his eyes. He could hear the hatefulness in his voice. “I came home to garbage strewn across the front lawn.”

“I’m sorry. My mistake.” Cas tried to sound humble so as not to evoke his father’s rage. But somehow that never worked out for him.

“Do you think I like busting my ass at work all day, only to come here and clean up after you?”

“No. I don’t think that.” Cas kept his eyes peeled on the floor.

“What the hell did you say to me boy!?” Zachariah’s voice raised in anger. He was on his feet now. Castiel could feel the trembling start in his fingers.

“I said, no sir. No sir. I don’t think that at all.” There was no quelling his father’s rage now. It had, no doubt, been building for hours, as he sat in the dark, smoldering in whiskey and self loathing.

“You have no goddamn respect for me or my house! I didn’t raise you to be a fucking slob Castiel! It’s bad enough you don’t give a shit that the whole neighborhood thinks we’re trash, because you can’t be bothered with your fucking chores!” Zachariah loomed over his son, fists clenched.

Jimmy would have looked him in the eye and told him to go to hell! Jimmy would have said that, if the neighborhood thought they were trash, it was because they had seen Zachariah Novak passed out in his own yard more times than they’d seen him sober. Jimmy would have told him that he would keep up the trash when Zacharaih could keep up with a job or a woman for more than a few months. And then, if he wanted, he would have left. That was Jimmy.

But not Cas.

Cas just swallowed hard and tried to avoid his father’s gaze.

…

Dean slammed the hood of the Impala and gave Bobby the signal to crank her up.

There was a moment where they both held their breath, and then the familiar roar of her engine rumbled to life! The car’s exhaust released a steady cloud of steam into the cold November air. Dean couldn’t have had a bigger grin on his face.

“Hell yeah! What did I say? Like a kitten!” Dean boasted.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bobby rolled his eyes, sliding out of the still cranked car. “Don’t get too excited, you still don’t know how she handles. Take her around the block once before you go poppin’ the Dom Perignon!”

Dean wouldn’t admit it to Bobby but he could tell the alignment was still off before he even got out of the car lot. She pulled to the left a bit, but other than that, the ride was smooth. Dean felt proud of himself for managing to get her back on the road again. It did his heart good that he’d saved her from rusting away in the lot. It was true that he spent most of all his paychecks on restoring her. But he would be lying if he said it wasn’t worth it!

Dean cranked up the radio and cruised for more than just a block. He was halfway across town before he realized it. What he wouldn’t give to just live in this car. Maybe in another life he would have some awesome job where he got to travel all over the place; just him, the Impala, Van Halen and the open road! But this was his reality, and in reality, Dean needed to get back to Bobby’s and align the front end.

…

On his way back Dean spotted a homeless guy ahead of him, pushing a grocery cart down the sidewalk. He was limping slightly and shivering, his coat obviously too worn out to keep out the cold. Bobby’s car lot was on a stretch of road that cut through a randomly desolate part of town. Basically it was a few miles in either direction to…anything.

When Dean got close enough to see that the guy was only wearing one shoe, he immediately pumped the breaks. No way he was letting this guy walk in this wind, wearing that shitty coat and with only one shoe! Dean rolled down his window and leaned out, pulling up along side of the guy. He instantly regretted it.

“Cas?” Dean hated the utterly blatant shock in his own voice.

“Hello Dean.” Cas said without stopping.

Dean eased off the breaks a little and slowly rolled along next to Castiel, who just continued to limp down the sidewalk, pushing his grocery cart. The whole situation was awkward but Dean couldn’t exactly drive off now.

“Cas…are you homeless?” Dean really didn’t know how to ease that question into a conversation, so he didn’t.

“No.” He answered, ignoring the obvious unspoken question.

“So what’s with the cart?” Dean asked.

“I was grocery shopping.” Cas looked over at Dean with an expression that suggested, he thought this was obvious.

“And your shoe?”

“There was a dog.”

Dean figured it had to be at least six miles to Castiel’s house.

“Do you need a ride?"

“Thank you I’m fine.” Cas gave Dean a polite smile and pushed on.

Dean almost left it at that, and then a sudden gust of wind blew into the car and Dean felt the blistering cold of it bite his face.

“Cas. Cas wait a minute!”

Castiel stopped and, as if it pained him, turned to look at Dean.

“Look, just… get in okay? The heater isn’t great in here, but it beats hoofing it six miles in this shit.”

For a moment Dean thought he was going to have to get out of the car and drag Cas in. But he didn’t. Castiel gathered up his grocery bags and piled into the car with them. Dean put the car in drive and they pulled off, abandoning the grocery cart on the sidewalk.

Dean could see Cas trying to conceal his shivers.

“Like I said, the heater isn’t the best, but if you put your hands right up to the vents, it’ll probably knock out the chill.”

Cas just nodded and flashed Dean a brief but grateful smile, and followed his instructions.

“So…” Dean attempted to make some conversation in the awkward silence. “Do you always steal a grocery cart when you go shopping?”

“I only borrow them. I always take them back.”

Dean had just been attempting to make a joke. He didn’t realize Cas walked all the way across town and back every time he needed bread and milk. But come to think of it, he had never seen Cas drive anywhere. He and Jimmy used to take the bus to school, and outside of that Dean had never seen Cas anywhere else. There hadn’t been a car at the Cemetery the night he’d run into Cas there either. It had been over an hour later when Cas showed up at his door. Had he walked the whole way to Jimmy’s grave and the whole way home?

Despite cupping and rubbing his hands in front of the heater vent, Cas continued to shiver. Dean noticed and reached into the back seat for the hooded sweatshirt he wore under his coat when the temperatures got really low. He dropped it in Cas’ lap.

“Put that on.”

Dean couldn’t quite place the expression on Cas’ face when he offered him the hoodie, but he was pretty sure that Cas wasn’t used to people being kind to him. Dean wasn’t sure why that made him feel like he’d been punched in the stomach but it did.

Never in a million years would Dean Winchester have believed you, if you told him a year ago that he would be giving Castiel Novak a ride home in the Impala. Time has a funny way of changing things.

…

Cas tried to give the hoodie back to Dean when they got to Cas’ house. But Dean refused, claiming it was too small for him now and that Cas would probably get more use out of it.

Cas didn’t take it off, even once he got inside. He liked that it smelled like Dean. Like leather and sandalwood soap and engine grease. He liked how broken-in it felt, and how warm it was. He even liked the discarded beer bottle top he found in the pocket. Like many things in Dean’s life, it was heavily used but well taken care of and had traces of him in it.

Cas was in a good mood all afternoon until his father got home from work and realized Cas forgot to get aspirin when he was at the store. For a normal family, that wouldn’t have been a big deal. But Castiel’s father relied on aspirin to make it through work hungover.

“I guess you’re just gunna have to go back.” Zachariah said.

That wouldn’t be a problem if Cas had a car or a drivers license or a bicycle or something to get him across town. But he didn’t and he knew better than to ask his father to borrow his car.

“The grocery store closes at nine.” Cas said. It was currently 8:12pm.

“Then I suggest you run.” Zachariah didn’t have to tell Cas what it would mean if he didn’t make it on time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're still reading! We're about to be getting into some really thematic stuff so brace yourselves.


	7. Angels Unaware

It was not physically possible for Castiel to make it to the grocery store before it closed. Luckily for him, he knew of a twenty-four hour service station within a twenty minute walk from his neighborhood, where aspirin was sold. As long as his father had it for work tomorrow, he wouldn’t care where it came from. Unlucky for Cas, the store was in a not so great part of town.

Cas didn’t notice the group of guys leaned up against the wall outside the convenience store, on his way in. And he certainly didn’t notice when they peeled off from their hang out and started tailing him, on his way out. He was so focused on getting home promptly, that he was completely unaware he was in trouble, until he felt a large, firm hand grab him by the shoulder and jerk him to a halt!

“Where you going in such a hurry?” A gruff and twangy voice demanded!

Cas turned slowly to face his addressor. It was a tall, strawberry blonde boy that Cas recognized from high school, but never knew his name. He was surprised to see that four other guys had come with him. They stood in a semicircle formation, creating a barricade. All five of them were much taller and broader than Cas. All of them from his old high school. None of their names he knew.

Cass swallowed hard.

“I’m just taking some medicine home to my father.” He tried to tread lightly. Just give them what they want and they’ll leave you alone! Wasn’t that how Cas had always heard he should handle muggers? But what did you do when you couldn’t give them what they wanted?

“I don’t have any money.” Cas admitted.

His confession was greeted by a round of menacing chuckles.

“Aw tha’s alright. We don’t want your money.” The larger boy’s hand was still forebodingly gripping into Castiel’s shoulder. His bloodshot eyes sweeping over Cas’ body from head to toe, where his gaze lingered before he snapped back to eye contact. “We want your shoes.”

Castiel’s shoes were not nice shoes. They were ordinary, non-label, grey sneakers he’d got from a department store. They weren’t worth anything. Cas realized they had no interest in the shoes. Not really. This was a power trip. It was about humiliation and cruelty. Cas was familiar with that. He knew how to appease men like this.

Before today, Cas had only owned two pairs of shoes. By this afternoon he only owned one complete pair. And now he would have none. Cas went down on one knee and started untying the laces. His face got hot when he heard a round of snickering. He glanced up just briefly enough to notice that the ringleader of the little gang was thrusting his hips at Cas’ head suggestively, for the amusement of his fellow Neanderthals! Cas dropped his eyes to the pavement and tried to ignore it.

“What’s taking so long?” The bully barked. “You don’t know how to take off a pair of shoes? Are you retarded?”

Cas didn’t answer. He just tugged more frantically at his laces, finally yanking off one shoe and starting on the other.

“What? You can’t talk now?” Cas felt the guy’s foot connect with his chest, not hard enough to really do any damage but enough to knock him off his balance and the wind out of him. “I asked you a question retard!”

Laying sprawled on the sidewalk, trying to inhale, Cas wondered whether or not he should bother getting up. He knew all to well what was coming next. He dealt with this sort of thing all the time. It started off with intimidation and then a display of control. Followed by a little humiliation and then it would end in violence. It was always leading to that.

Cas wouldn’t get up just to be kicked back down again. If they wanted to hurt him bad enough they could do it like this.

“You deaf now too, retard?”

Cas didn’t answer.

“Hey.” the voice was growing angrier. “Answer me you little cocksucker!”

Cas looked up and saw a glint of silver as his attacker pulled a knife. He closed his eyes and waited for it.

“Excuse me!” A deep baritone boomed from somewhere behind Cas. The voice sounded familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. “Do you boys know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”

“Get lost old man! This doesn’t concern you.” Cas could hear one of the guys call out.

Cas opened his eyes and rolled his neck to look in the direction of the interrupter. He recognized Reverend John Winchester immediately.

John didn’t slow his pace as he walked towards them. He wasn’t put off by their warning. The man commanded himself with complete confidence as he strode right up to Cas’ still prostrate form. He was easily a head taller than the boy with the knife and a good bit sturdier. No surprise there: the Winchesters were built like line backers.

“I was hoping to maybe chat with you fellas about the state of your souls.” John carried on in a cheerfully manic tone, as if he weren’t outnumbered by a gang of switchblade wielding punks.

Ringleader snarled at him and brandished his knife threateningly, jabbing out his words in the direction of John's face. “I said, get fucking lost.”

John very calmly pulled back his coat to reveal a silver Colt 1911 with a pearl handle, strapped to his hip. He tentatively set his hand on the hilt and smiled. “I would just hate to know you went out to meet your maker, without getting your heart right with God.”

Ringleader eyed John and the gun for a moment, before he decided it wasn’t worth it to face off against an armed lunatic ranting about religious mumbo. But just to be an ass, he scooped up Cas’ one discarded shoe, before he and his boys high tailed it.

John waited to make sure they weren’t coming back before he reached out to Cas and pulled him up.

“You alright?” He asked.

“I think so.” Said Cas, though he was still in shock and really couldn’t be sure.

“You’re Zachariah Novak’s boy aren’t you?” John asked next.

“Yes sir.” Cas answered meekly.

John nodded and clapped his hand on Cas’ shoulder. Unlike previously, this gesture was comforting and reassuring. “Let’s get you home.” He said.

…

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Castiel was wearing only one shoe. It was like something out of a bad joke. Cas spent most of the ride home trying to remember if the other shoe he had at home was the same, or opposite foot, as the one he had on now. It should have been easier to remember, considering how far he’d walked earlier, on one bare foot. But he was still pretty shaken up.

“Are you sure you don’t want to file a police report?” John Winchester asked. “If you have trouble with them again, it would be good to have that in your arsenal.”

“I’m sure. Thank you though.” Involving the police would be more trouble than it was worth. Cas didn’t need any help upsetting his father without getting cops involved in his life.

Cas found it hard to make eye contact with John, and John was starting to notice how Cas avoided his gaze.

“I hope I didn’t freak you out back there.” John said.

“You did.” Cas bluntly admitted. “Thank you.” He added.

John was rightly and adequately confused but only replied with. “You’re welcome?”

Cas was only being honest but he had the inclination that he might have just offended John Winchester. And he didn’t want that. He liked John. He liked all of the Winchesters. They were rugged on the exterior with strong, abrasive personalities! But they were more than just a family of tough guys and straight shooters. There was something about the Winchesters that just couldn’t stand for injustice. Inside there was a genuine warmth to them, that drew Cas in like a moth to the flame.

“It’s just…” Cas tried to explain himself. “I’ve never met a preacher who was...packing heat.”

  
John looked over at Cas, brows raised. Obviously stunned Cas had initiated conversation. Then he smirked in a way that reminded Cas of John's son, Dean.

“You haven’t met many preachers then.” He said with an ironic smile.

“Oh? Is it customary for men of God to carry concealed weapons?” Cas asked.

“Oh yeah.” John nodded. “Christians love their guns!” John wagged his eyebrows playfully.

Cas smiled.

…

Castiel was relieved to find his father had already gone to bed when he got in.

Cas left the bottle of aspirin where his father would find it and wearily made his way up the steps to his bedroom. The first thing he did when he closed his bedroom door was hunt for the other shoe he’d been wearing that morning. He found it! Thankfully it was the left shoe and he was wearing a right. One was grey and one was white, but at least he had a pair of functioning shoes.

Standing in front of his mirror, Cas very wearily pulled off all his clothes and put on a pair of pajama pants. On his pale chest, a size eleven bruise was forming. It was the freshest, but it wasn’t the only one he had. His father was pretty good about hiding where he left marks, and Cas never wore short sleeves, not even in summer. Cas tuned away from the mirror, grateful he couldn’t see his own back.

Hidden in the nightstand drawer, next to Cas’ bed, was a travel sized, two-year calendar and a sharpie. He pulled them out and marked off the date. November 21st. Then he flipped the pages of the calendar over, December, January, February, March. March 16th was circled. After a while Cas slipped the calendar back into his nightstand.

In the pile of freshly discarded clothes, Cas fished out Dean’s hooded sweatshirt. He pulled it on and climbed into his bed. Cas burried his face in the hoodie and inhaled deeply. He instantly felt calmer. He closed his eyes and imagined he wasn’t laying on his twin size bed in his father’s house. He imagined he was somewhere else. Somewhere warm and safe.

Cas was a little surprised that the first image that popped into his head was being under John Winchester’s arm. But if he thought about it, that wasn’t really surprising. The man had just saved his life, after all. And Cas didn’t have to be a shrink to figure out why a man like John Winchester would certainly appealed to a boy, with a father like Zachariah Novak. That got Cas’ mind reeling.

What would it have been like if he had been born into the Winchester family? Cas didn’t know much about them except what he had gathered from Jimmy when he was alive. And that wasn’t much. But Cas imagined their house was full of love and laughter and the sort of playful camaraderie that his brother had shared with Dean Winchester.

Castiel had always been envious of their friendship. He assumed that Dean must have been the reason Jimmy suddenly grew a spine and started standing up to their father. Cas only wished some of that courage had rubbed off on him.

The exhaustion of trauma finally overtook Cas and he drifted off to sleep. That night he dreamed that he was sitting at a dinner table with the Winchesters. John was at the head of the table and Dean was sitting next to Cas. There was a lot of talking and laughter, none of which Cas actually participated in. But he couldn’t have been happier to just be there. Castiel couldn’t remember everything about the dream when he woke up the next day. But he did remember one thing.

He remembered Dean Winchester holding his hand under the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might have been a little short but I should be updating a lot more frequently this weekend. Enjoy!


	8. Wrapped In Guilt And Sealed Up Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd be surprised what you can find in the Winchesters' Garage.

On Thanksgiving, Bobby Singer joined the Winchesters and they spent the whole day cooking, eating and watching football.

Dean had finally finished restoring the Impala, and working out all of her kinks. His dad had the biggest grin on his face when Dean handed over the keys to him, after dinner.

“I’m proud of you kid.” John said. “You’ve been working pretty hard for this.”

Dean just shrugged modestly, but secretly he was pretty proud of himself as well. It was nice to be able to give that car back to his father, especially since it was his fault he’d lost it in the first place. Granted, more important things were lost that night. Things that couldn’t be put back together. But this was a step in the right direction.

Dean knew how much that car meant to his father. Which is why is surprised him when his dad up and gave it to him.

“I think you’re ready to take care of her now.” John said.

Dean seemed reluctant to take the keys.

“Dad are you sure you trust me with this?” There was a lot of doubt and guilt in Dean’s eyes.

“I trust nobody more.” John assured his son.

…

Dean couldn’t go anywhere without seeing Castiel Novak. At the grocery store, the post office, on his way to work, on his way to pick up Sammy from school. The kid was all over town and he walked everywhere he went. Dean would offer him a ride when he could. And Cas would always accept (even though their car rides were usually quiet and incredibly awkward) but Dean found himself wishing Cas had a more independent means of getting around. Jimmy wasn’t around to look out for Cas anymore and Dean was largely responsible for that. Dean felt like someone ought to be looking out for the guy.

Of course, he’d mentioned Cas’ situation in front of his family a few times, but he hadn’t expected Sam to come up with a solution.

Dean came home from work one day to find Sam in the garage with their mom’s old bike and a tub of turtle wax.

“Prepping your ride, for your big date?” Dean teased.

“Har har!” Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s for Cas.”

That took Dean by surprise. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah I asked dad if we could give it to him. Since you said he walks everywhere, ‘cause he can’t drive or something.” Sam shrugged. “Dad said he’d rather see it go to good use than rust out here.”

“Uh Huh.” Dean said, lifting his brows.

“What?” Sam snapped.

“No it’ just… it’s a girl bike.”

They both starred at the bike for a second, taking in the full force of it’s feminine charm. It was powder blue with pastel yellow finders and handlebar grips. The worst was the white, plastic basket with the yellow ribbon mounted to the front.

“Eh… he wears two different color shoes.” Sam finally said. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

…

Cas was taking out the trash when he spotted the familiar black Impala, pull onto his street. He was pretty surprised when it pulled up on the curb right in front of his lawn. Sam and Dean Winchester both rolled out of the car and Sam jogged around to the trunk to fish something out.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean waved him over.

Castiel glanced around nervously and headed over. It was a good thing his father was at work. He couldn’t imagine what his old man would do if he knew that Dean Winchester had showed up at his house, much less that Cas had been spending time with him, however insignificant.

“How can I help you Dean?” Cas asked, as he walked up to the car. His eyes traveled back to where Sam had just unloaded a beautiful vintage bicycle onto the sidewalk. “What’s that?”

“Uh..that is…I mean…” Dean ran his fingers timidly through his short cropped hair. “My kid brother thought you might want this. It was just collecting dust in the garage. I know it’s not very…masculine but-”

“It’s perfect.” Cas said, his eyes practically shinning.

Sam wheeled it up next to Cas who looked like he had just been given a million bucks. He ran his hand over the smooth handlebars and the white leather seat. The silvery spokes of the rims and the white wall tires were as clean as if they were new.

“Are you sure you want to part with it?” Cas said distractedly as he stroked the handlebars. “It’s so nice.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks; Sam raising his brows with a grin and Dean smirking and shaking his head.

…

Dean was helping his dad search for Christmas decorations in the garage when he found the box. It was half hidden behind a broken blender and a box of old baseball trophies. It was just a plain yellow file box, with ‘Dean’ written in felt pen on the label.

“What’s this?” Dean asked, holding the box up for his dad to see.

John squinted at it for a second and then recognition registered on his face. He frowned. “Oh. That’s uh…the stuff the paramedics salvaged.”

It took Dean a second to figure out what he was talking about. When he did his face went slack.

“Oh.”

“I can just throw it out if you want.” John reached for the box but Dean instinctively pulled it closer.

“No it’s okay!” Dean said a little hastier than he would have liked. “I mean…I can throw it out later.”

John just shrugged and cocked his head, as if to say, ‘suit yourself.’

Later, after he and Sammy finished decorating their Christmas tree, Dean took the box to his bedroom and locked the door. He couldn’t be sure what he would find in the box or how it would make him feel, and he wanted to have some privacy. He took a deep breath and ripped off the lid, like an old band-aid.

Dean wasn’t prepared for what he found inside. It was his clothes. Everything he’d been wearing the night of the wreck. They had been cut down the seams, but that wasn’t the most startling thing about their condition. They were still covered in old blood stains. Some of it was probably his but a lot of it was probably, also Jimmy’s. Also in the box was a necklace Sam gave him when they were kids and his old wallet. Both of which he thought he’d lost.

Dean opened the wallet. The paramedics had removed his driver’s license for identification purposes; but other than that, everything was still there. A crumpled twenty dollar bill, his school ID, game vouchers and a token from Dale’s Game Room, a condom and a ‘buy 3 get 1 free’ punch card for Frank’s Drive-In, which no longer existed.

Almost all of those things brought back memories. Dean took a deep breath and let it out slow. Maybe the holiday season wasn’t the best time for Dean to be making himself sad. Dean put on the necklace Sammy gave him, and tucked everything else back into the box. Just before he closed the lid, something caught his eye.

It was a bloodstain on the left shoulder part of the sleeve, of what was left of his t-shirt. It looked like it was in the shape of a finger and thumb. Dean pulled the shirt out and smoothed it on the bed so he could examine the rest of the stain. It was marred by splatter, but Dean could clearly make out the shape of a handprint in dried blood.

“What the hell?”

…

“What are you getting at Dean?” Sam asked. He was sitting cross legged on Dean’s bed, the stained shirt in his lap.

“I’m saying what I’ve been saying all along Sammy! There was someone else there that night!” Dean was pacing the floor of his bedroom, animatedly waving his hands. “Nothing about what the paramedics or the cops or that train driver-”

“Conductor.” Sam corrected.

“Whatever. None of their stories ever added up. Not with what I remember. I’m telling you, there was someone in the middle of the road, I swerved to keep from hitting them, next thing I know I’m upside down in the middle of the tracks! One minute I’m starring down the barrel of a long black train, the next I black out!”

“Yeah I get all that but…” Sam held up the shirt with the handprint on it. “What does this have to do with any of that?”

“Come on Sam! Use your head! You really think I was a sitting duck on the tracks with a ten ton train bearing down on me, and that I survived because I was ‘thrown’ from the car? Give me a break!” Dean stopped pacing and snatched up the shirt, examining the handprint again. “Sammy, someone pulled me out of that heap.”

  
Dean couldn’t tell from Sam’s expression whether his little brother believed him or not.

“Who?” Sam asked.

“I dunno Sam, maybe the guy I almost ran down?” Dean barked sarcastically.

“So, it was a man?” Sam knitted his brows.

“I think so. Probably not. I don’t know.” Dean scrunched his forehead and rubbed his eyes.

Sam hadn’t seen Dean this fired up over something in ages. He wished there was some way he could help Dean, but he didn‘t know where to even begin. And Sam was pretty sure even Dean didn’t know how to help Dean.


	9. No Words Necessary

The Winchesters could have no way of knowing how drastically they had changed Castiel’s life, with their simple gift. No more hauling his groceries home from half way across town. No more hikes to the post office. No more blistered feet, or checking over his shoulder for stray dogs and thugs. But most importantly, they had given him a little taste of freedom.

Errands that used to take Cas the better part of a day, now only took an hour at most. He had so much free time! He could ride to the park and sit and watch the ducks or stay longer when he visited Jimmy’s grave. He didn’t need to rely on anyone for a ride. It was nice and it got Cas thinking, what else could he do, now that he had his own mode of transportation?

…

Ellen, the owner of Harvelle’s Roadhouse, gave Cas a skeptical once over. “Can you wash dishes?” She asked?

Cas nodded enthusiastically. “I can do anything you like.”

The snarky, middle aged woman raised an eyebrow. “Oh honey, you’re cute but I just need a dishwasher.”

The joke was completely lost on Cas.

Ellen rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Can you start tomorrow? Holiday rush is kicking our ass!”

…

Cas couldn’t keep from smiling the whole way home. His first job! He could hardly believe it! He’d asked his father a few times about taking him around to apply for jobs, but the old man had just scoffed at him.

“Who would hire you? Look at you! You’re lazy and a slob. You’d scare away business. Besides, how are you supposed to get to this job of yours huh? You expect me to drive you there and pick you up? I’m not your goddamned chauffeur, Miss Daisey!”

There had been no more talk of a job after that.

But his father had been wrong. Someone had hired him! And furthermore, he would be able to get to work just fine on his own. All thanks to the Winchesters!

Now he just had to tell his father.

…

Breaking the news to his dad about his job, turned out better than he could have hoped. This was thanks it part, to the fact that Zachariah Novak had a new girlfriend over for dinner. Her name was Naomi, and for the life of him, Cas couldn’t figure out what she was doing with his father. She was pretty and well put together. Not the sort of woman his father usually dug up in a bar.

“This job of yours better not interfere with you pulling your weight around here.” was all Cas’ father said.

“No sir. It won’t, I promise!” Just to prove a point, Cas took out all the trash, swept, mopped and dusted the rugs, after he cleaned up from dinner.

Later, when he was sitting on his bed, bundled up in Dean’s hoodie, Cas took out his calendar and counted the weeks until March 16th. He added up how many paychecks he would get until then and multiplied that by his estimated weekly income. He took that figure and divided it by half. Cas didn’t know how much it would coast him to get an apartment. And he didn’t know if the number he was looking at was enough.

All Cas knew was that, in less than four months he would be eighteen. And he would be damned if he spent another night in this house after that!

…

The two weeks before Christmas were the busiest for John Winchester. The past few days he had: ran a soup kitchen, organized a toy drive, built a set for the church Christmas play, helped Sam put together his closing arguments for mock trial and assisted Dean in hanging Christmas lights on the house! In fact, the only thing John hadn’t done, was sit down for five minutes.

John sank into his favorite chair in the living room, where Sam and Dean where playing ‘Trouble’ on the coffee table. The TV was playing and ‘A Christmas Story’ was on, but no one was really watching it.

“I swear you’re cheating!” Dean announced.

“I’m not cheating, you just suck!” Sam retorted.

“You suck.” Dean muttered.

There was a knock on the door. John audibly groaned at the thought of getting up to answer it.

“I got it, Dad!” Sam jumped up and bolted for the door.

A minute later he walked back into the living room with Castiel Novak in tow. The disheveled boy was holding a patched up backpack in his hands.

“Cas?” As always, Dean sounded surprised to see him. Just once, Dean wished he could sound normal when he said hello to the guy. Sam and John looked just as surprised to see him though.

“Hello Dean. Reverend Winchester.” Cas greeted them both. His bright blue eyes shifted around the room, taking in the board game and the television. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your family time.”

“Not at all.” John said, waving him in. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything.”

Cas followed Sam to the couch, where they sat next to Dean, with Cas in the middle. “No sir. Thank you, though.”

There was a moment of awkward silence before Cas realized they were all waiting for him to explain the reason for his visit.

“I…wanted to say thank you. For the bicycle. And for being so kind to me.” Cas went into his backpack and pulled out three oddly shaped packages wrapped in newspaper, and passed them around the room. “They aren’t much but…I just wanted you to know your kindness didn’t go unnoticed.”

The Winchesters exchanged meaningful glances, as they often would, and tore open their gifts.

Sam’s was a date planner that was covered in sunflowers and had ‘KANSAS’ in huge red letters scrawled across the front. Sam had the biggest grin on his face and was trying desperately not to laugh.

“Thanks Cas.” He said polity, stifling the giggles. But he almost lost his shit when he saw what John got.

It was a coffee mug, but the handle was shaped like a revolver and coming out the other side of the cup was a functionless ceramic gun barrel.

“I know how you like guns.” Cas said matter of factly.

John grinned and nodded. “That I do.” He turned the tacky cup over and over in his hands, trying to contain his smile. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful.”

“You’re very welcome.” said Cas.

Everyone turned to see what Dean’s gift was, and they were all surprised to see his eyes were swollen and tears rolling down his cheeks.

In his hands was a small wooden picture frame, containing a photo of him and Jimmy from two summers before. They were bare chested, with wet hair and huge goofy grins! Jimmy was tucked under Dean’s arm, The Old Mill Creek bridge visible in the background. That summer they rigged up a rope swing under that bridge, and it was a small wonder they hadn’t killed themselves then! In the picture their faces were flushed pink. Early signs of what would become one of the worst sunburns Dean had ever suffered in his life! Sam had gone with them that day and took this picture.

Everyone sat in stunned silence, all eyes on Dean. When he looked up he met Cas’ concerned gaze.

“I’m sorry… I found it in Jimmy’s room. I thought you might want it.” Cas looked down at his hands. “I didn’t think it would upset you.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to express how he felt. Yes the picture had upset him, because he missed his friend. But it had also reminded him of one of the better times in his life! And Dean knew he could use a few more of those.

Between struggling with how to say all of that, and realizing that his throat was so tight it would be a miracle if he could say anything at all, Dean ended up just throwing his arms around Cas, without saying a word.

Cas was taken completely by surprise! He sat perfectly still, as if afraid he might scare Dean off, if he moved. Dean’s arms were strong, and his chest was warm, and his hair had that familiar smell that Cas knew so well, because he slept with it on him every night. When Dean pulled away Cas could feel his heart pounding so hard in his chest, he was sure everyone in the room could hear it.

“Thank you.” Dean finally choked out, wiping his face with his hand.

Cas smiled and gave a timid nod. Then he stood, gathering his backpack in his hands.

“I’ll let you get back to your game now. You all have a Merry Christmas.” And with that he turned to go.

Sam immediately shot Dean a demanding look.

Dean furrowed his brow and shrugged as if to say, ‘what?’

Sam's eyes wide, he jerked his head and cut his eyes in the direction of the retreating Castiel.

Dean cleared his throat and spoke up. “Hey Cas?”

Cas stopped and turned to look back at him. “Yes Dean?”

“Do you know how to play Trouble?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the fluff while it lasts bitches.


	10. Heaven's Door

Befriending Cas hadn’t been part of the plan. It just sort of…happened.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Dean held the picture of him and Jimmy in his hands, tracing the frame with a calloused finger.

Dean couldn’t think of a single person who had more right to hate his guts than Castiel. Yet for whatever reason, Cas didn’t hate him. Somehow, Cas had found it to forgive Dean for his sins. Dean knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness, and he didn’t understand why it had been given. He tried not to question it; but all he could think about was, if someone had taken Sammy away from him...

It was just so easy to like Cas! Socially, he was such a lost cause. But there was a genuine goodness about him that reminded Dean, so much, of Jimmy. And yet, Dean couldn’t have thought up two people more different, than Castiel and Jimmy.

“I wish you had something to say about all this.” Dean grumbled to Jimmy’s photograph.

But Jimmy didn’t say anything. In fact, Dean hadn’t even dreamed about Jimmy in almost two months.

Dean’s door was open and John stopped to lean in the doorframe, knocking to announce his presence. Bright green eyes snapped up from the picture. “Hey.” Dean said, bashfully putting the photo aside.

“You alright?” John asked. Dean knew what he meant.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Dean cleared his throat and nodded affirmatively. “Thanks.”

John just nodded back and took a sip of his coffee from the ridiculous cup Cas had given him. “That Novak boy… he’s a sweet kid. Sam says he didn’t have many friends in school.”

“If by ’not many’ Sam meant he had none, then yes.”

“Well…” John pushed off of the door frame and came to sit down on the bed next to his son. “I’m proud of you and your brother. You know, for reaching out to him. Compassion takes a certain kind of courage.”

“Yeah well…” Dean shrugged. “I guess all of that preaching we heard all our lives must have sunk in, at some point.”

John chuckled and shook his head. “Good. I was pretty sure it was all falling on deaf ears.”

Dean smiled and then the two of them sat there in silence for a little while. After a moment, John patted Dean on the leg and got up to go. He got all the way to the door, before Dean stopped him.

“Hey, Dad?”

John paused and turned back to face his son. “Hmm?”

“You believe in second chances and all that right?” Dean couldn’t make eye contact with his father. He just looked at his hands and worried his fingers. “I mean…you talk about it…in church and all.”

“Yeah.” John wasn’t exactly sure what Dean was getting at, but he knew the right answer. “I’m kind of in the business of second chances.” He flashed his son a winning Winchester smile. “Wouldn’t have much of a career if I didn’t believe in them.”

If Dean had been planning on asking a follow-up question, he didn’t. He just sort of, sat there, considering John’s reply.

 

John could see the thoughts of self doubt swimming on Dean’s face. He knew that feeling. When Mary had died, John found every way to blame himself for what happened. The hardest thing in the world was accepting that he had been powerless to save her. That nothing he could have done would have changed anything. It had been a freak accident. A one-in-a-million tragedy. For the Winchesters, dealing with guilt was a lot easier than feeling helpless.

John might not have known what else Dean was dealing with, but he knew this.

“Dean, the hardest person to get forgiveness from, is yourself.” John said. “You’re gonna have to give yourself a second chance.”

 

…

 

Cas had spent a lot of time contemplating what it would be like to spend an evening in the Winchester house.

It was nothing like he imagined, but he wasn’t disappointed. In Cas’ fantasies it had been all bubbly, with lots of laughter, cookies and hot cocoa. In reality, it was just a lot of insults and shoulder punching and over salted popcorn. Yet, that was somehow warmer than what Cas had imagined. Hidden beneath all of the bravado in that house was something very tender and very strong. Something Cas couldn’t describe, but was very hungry to have.

He played the night over and over in his head, on an endless reel, until he fell asleep.

…

The week of Christmas, Castiel’s father spent a lot of time at his new girlfriend’s house. That was just fine with Cas. It meant he was free to come and go as he pleased. It meant he didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was home. And most of all, it meant he didn’t have to come up with an excuse, for where he was going, when he hung out with the Winchesters.  
Cas knew his father would kill him if he ever found out!

Zachariah Novak, like most of the town, believed one hundred percent, that Dean Winchester was solely responsibly for Jimmy’s death.

But Castiel knew better.

For Cas, the night Jimmy died, wasn’t just the night Jimmy died. It was also the night Cas almost died…

It wasn’t the first time Jimmy had snuck out, since becoming friends with Dean Winchester. But it was the first time their alcoholic father had woken up and found him missing. Cas remembered laying in his bed trembling, as he listened to his drunken father tear through the house, cursing and breaking things. When Zachariah couldn’t be sated by demolishing everything in Jimmy’s room, he turned on Cas.

“Where is he?! Why are you lying for him you ungrateful shit?!”

Zachariah beat Castiel until he thought he might die.

And then he beat him until he wanted to die.

It was the first and last time Cas had ever run away. He couldn’t remember how it happened, but somehow in the struggle, Castiel had broken free and fled the house. He ran as fast as he could, bare foot and shirtless across the lawn. If his father chased him, he didn’t know. Cas didn’t sob or make a sound, but he could feel the hot sting of tears on his face as he ran.

Cas didn’t have a plan or a thought in his mind about how he was going to end it, but he knew he was never going back. He was done.

All his life, the only person in the world Cas ever had, was his brother. Growing up, Jimmy stuck up for him and looked out for him. But then Cas failed eighth grade, and Jimmy had gone on to high school without him. By the time Cas got to high school, Jimmy was so far out of his reach he didn’t know how to get his brother back!

But then Cas thought it was for the best that they had grown apart. Jimmy didn’t have much more than Cas; but he had Dean and a shot at college! Jimmy was going to get a normal life! How could Cas be selfish and ask Jimmy to give that up for him? He could already see Jimmy second guessing his choice to move away for college, because he was worried about leaving Cas behind.

Cas wasn’t strong like Jimmy. He knew he was never going to get away from their father. But he wasn’t going to be the reason Jimmy didn’t get away.

He hadn’t even realized how far he’d run, when he stumbled onto the tracks. Perfect. Cas would just lay here and wait for the next train.

But the train never came and the pain never left. And the longer Cas waited, the harder it became to maintain his resolve. He stood up and started walking down the street that crossed the tracks, with no clue where to go from there.

Ahead Castiel spotted a set of headlights on the road.

…

“We go to the same place, every New Year and every 4th of July! It’s awesome!” Sam was eagerly loading down Cas’ arms with fireworks. The merchant that ran the seasonal booth (which set up shop twice a year in the grocery store parking lot) was eyeing them suspiciously. Probably, he thought they were going to grab and dash. Sam pulled out the small wad of 20’s Dean had given him, to put the clerk’s mind at ease.

“Are we going to need this many fireworks, Sam? It seems like a lot.” Cas shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Sam’s selections.

“Pfft! This is nothing! You should see what we got last summer! We have to take it easy this year, since we almost burned the whole field down last fourth.” Sam said, with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary. “We set a whole box off!”

Cas’s eyes went a little wide. Who would have guessed? Sam Winchester: Pyromaniac.

“Hey!” Dean was waiting for them in the Impala. He gestured at his watch. “Shake a leg, ladies!”

Cas sat in the back seat with all of the fireworks. He silently prayed that they didn’t hit a pot hole, because he was pretty sure that the slightest jarring or friction would send them all up in flames.

Sam and Dean were up front, with the radio cranked up, singing along with Billy Idol’s ‘Rebel Yell.’

Cas felt a little pang of envy at the chemistry they shared. It wasn’t as if he and Jimmy hadn’t been close. They were twins after all. But their relationship hadn’t been like Sam and Dean’s. What Cas and Jimmy had between them was based on blood. But the Winchester boys were more than brothers. They were friends.

The field Sam described was on the edge of town, a small hike from the road. The sky had long gone dark, and there were no street lights to speak of, but the moon was exceptionally bright. The three boys piled out of the car and Sam grabbed the large cardboard box from the back seat.

“Come on, let’s go!” Sam dashed off ahead of Dean and Cas with the fireworks clutched to his chest.

Dean huffed out a little laugh, and Cas found himself wishing he could make Dean Winchester smile like that.

They caught up with Sam in the clearing. He was already pulling out a bundle of Roman Candles.

Sam searched his pockets before sighing and turning to his big brother. “You bring your lighter?”

Dean reached into his pocket and whipped out a silver Zippo. Sam passed out the Roman Candles and held out the fuse end of his. “Light ‘em up!” he demanded.

Cas had never so much as been within a hundred yards of any sort of fireworks. He had no idea what to do with his, and when Dean lit his fuse he almost had a panic attack!

Cas’ cringed and turned his face half away from what, he acted like, was a high powered explosive, in his hand. He missed how Sam and Dean were holding the ends of their fireworks straight up; and they missed how he was holding his straight forward. That is, until the first rounds came bursting from the ends of their Roman Candles, and Cas’ made a b-line for the road before exploding a barely safe distance from where the Impala was parked.

“Whoa!” Dean shouted!

Dean grabbed Cas’ wrist with his free hand, and guided the sputtering end of Cas’ firework safely towards the heavens.

Cas swallowed hard. He could feel Dean’s body against his back. They weren’t exactly pressed together. But there was enough contact that Cas could feel the difference in temperature. Dean didn’t let go of his wrist until the hollow shaft in Cas’ hand was empty. Maybe Cas imagined it, but he thought Dean’s grip lingered on his hand a little while after the fireworks died. Cas felt his cheeks grow hot. He was really glad it was dark.

“Okay. Fireworks 101. The safest direction to point them, is up!” Dean punctuated his sentence by pointing up, as if to be sure Cas knew which direction up was. “I know that’s not your first instinct. You want to point them away from you. And you can! Point the end up and angle it away from you like this…” Dean took Cas by the arm again and demonstrated the angle. “And you want to sort of move your wrist like this…” Dean gripped Cas firmly on the wrist, and gently forced him to roll his hand in a subtle circular motion.

“Oh.” Cas said meekly. “Thank you.”

“No problem!” Dean smiled and smacked Cas firmly on the back with an open palm. It stung a little but Cas didn’t mind.

Sam handed Cas another Roman Candle and wagged his eyebrows excitedly. Cas’ lips twitched in a brief nervous smile.

“Doesn’t your father like fireworks.” Cas asked, wondering where Winchester Senior was this evening.

“Are you kidding?” Sam scoffed. “Blow a hundred bucks on something as ephemeral as fireworks and sneak onto private property to shoot them! You do know who our father is right?” Sam shook his head. “Dad would never let us do something like this.”

Well. That answered that.

By the time they got halfway through the fireworks, Cas had become a pro; though he was tempted to pretend he needed further instruction. The whole field was full of smoke and smelled of sulfur. All of the Roman Candles, Bottle Rockets and anything else hand held, was pretty much gone. All that remained, were a stack of large flutes, containing the really big fireworks.

Dean and Castiel stood a safe distance from where Sam was rigging up the fuses, so that all the fireworks would go off in succession.

“Listen, Cas…” Cas looked over at Dean, who kept his eyes faced forward as he spoke. “I just wanted you to know…I really appreciate you giving me that picture.” There was a brief pause where Dean cleared his throat. “I-uh, never realized that I didn’t have one, until you gave it to me.” Finally, Dean looked Cas in the eye. “Thank you.”

There was so much on Dean’s face, in that moment. There was the polite but sincere smile, and the intently furrowed brows and those tortured green eyes that betrayed something else. Something buried deep. Something Cas couldn’t figure out.

“Jimmy would have wanted you to have it.” Cas said, with a self affirming nod. “You were the person he cared for most.”

The expression on Cas’ face was so earnest, Dean had to look away from him. There was silence for a bit, while Dean studied the ground, appearing to consider something paramount.

“More than he cared about you?” Dean finally asked. Cas detected the guilt in Dean’s voice. It was so thick it threatened to choke him.

There was something toxic in Dean. He couldn’t allow himself to be happy. Not really and truly. He could smile and laugh and have a good time with the best of them! But somewhere, in the hidden places of Dean’s heart, he was heavy. He bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Cas couldn’t understand why? Why did Dean think it was up to him to fix every broken thing? Whatever happened between Cas and Jimmy, however good or fucked up Cas’ home life was…none of that was Dean’s responsibility!

But here he was, shouldering it anyway.

“Dean…” Cas waited for Dean to look at him again before he continued. “You can’t save everyone.”

The look on Dean’s face broke Castiel’s heart. Dean looked lost. Crushed. As if his only purpose in life was, in fact, to save everyone. And he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t, and it was killing him.

All Cas wanted, was to heal Dean.

Somewhere in the distance, Sam’s voice rang out, “Fire in the hole!” and seconds later the sky was filled with exploding colors!

They were probably beautiful! Cas didn’t know, because his eyes were closed, his fist clenched in Dean Winchester’s coat, and his lips pressed hard against Dean’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it probably seems like forever since I updated. When I started this fic I was on spring break and was able to post every day. But now work and school have resumed so I'll probably be posting a chapter weekly from here on out. I have not and will not give up on this fic! It just may take a little while to finish now. Thank you for your patience and your feedback! Both are welcome and appreciated!


	11. Nothing Gold Can Stay

For a split second, Dean’s only thought was that Cas’ lips were softer than they looked.

And then: what the hell? What the hell? What the hell?!

Dean didn’t know what to do. Should he pull back? Push Cas away? Open his mouth? Wait. What? No! Hell no!

But the kiss didn’t last long enough for Dean to decide. When Cas pulled away Dean just stared at him wide eyed and slack jawed. Cas gave him one of his flat smiles and turned away timidly. Dean stared on, in utter bewilderment, as Cas looked up into the sky at the brilliant fireworks display, as if nothing had happened.

Dean glanced around and spotted Sam, standing a ways out, gaze up. He had missed the whole thing.

 

…

 

Neither Sam nor Cas seemed to notice how uncomfortable Dean was on the drive home. Cas sat in the back seat listening to Sam, who was already planning for the fourth of July. Dean occasionally eyed the rearview mirror for any indication that Cas felt as awkward as he did. But he only saw a content smile, crinkling the corners of his bright blue eyes.

By the time they reached Cas’ street, Dean had become the most frustrated and confused he’d ever felt in his life. They parked a few blocks away, in case Zachariah was home. When Dean put the car in park he wanted to get out, pull Cas aside and ask him the million questions he could feel burning in his head. But somehow Dean knew he wouldn’t find the words to ask any of them.

Before he could even register what was going on, he heard Cas’ voice shatter his concentration.

“Thank you guys. This was the most fun I’ve had in...a really long time.”

Dean hadn’t even noticed Cas getting out of the car. Sam had his window rolled down, and the dark haired boy was leaning on the door, wearing a smile that looked eerily like Jimmy’s. Cas’ expression caught Dean off guard for a moment. He felt and old familiar pang in his chest.

“Dude, anytime!” Sam was saying. “We do stuff like this all the time. Actually, Dad’s planning a camping trip with the Youth next month. You should come.”

Cas nodded with a smile. “I would like that. If I’m not working.”

“Good.” Sam said, and gave Cas a firm slap on the shoulder.

Cas just smiled.

Nowhere in any of this was Dean able to say anything. He just sat quietly while Sam and Cas talked, until finally Cas tuned to head up the sidewalk towards his house.

 

…

 

Castiel could feel the smile tugging at his face. It was such a foreign feeling for him.

He knew he couldn’t say it without sounding pathetic, but this had been the most fun Cas had experienced in his whole life.

More fun than the time he and Jimmy had a slip-n-slide for a day. More fun than the time their neighbor asked Cas to watch his puppy for a few hours while he went to the store. More fun than the time their mom took him and Jimmy to the movies, the day before she left them.

Cas was sure he would remember tonight for the rest of his life. The night he shot fireworks with the Winchester boys.

The night he kissed Dean Winchester.

  
Cas wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Dean would reciprocate his feelings. He noticed how Dean became standoffish immediately afterwards. How he hadn’t spoken to Cas the whole trip home. Cas had been prepared for that and he wasn’t going to let that spoil the memory of tonight.

Nothing could spoil the memory of Dean’s firm chest under Cas‘ hands. The soft warmth of Dean’s lips in contrast to the sharp bite of his stubble. Not even the look of horror on his face when Cas pulled away.

If there was anything Castiel had learned in his short but miserable life it was that, if something makes you happy you might as well enjoy it, because you won’t have it long.

The Winchesters made Cas happy. Who knows how long they would be in his life?

Dean Winchester made Cas happy. Who knew if Cas would ever again have the chance or courage to let Dean know.

But Dean wasn’t happy. He was unhappy with himself and unhappy with what he had to offer to those he cared about. Cas only wished that Dean could see what a good man he was. That what he had to offer was enough. More than enough!

Tonight Cas had seen Dean bearing the weight of someone else’s guilt, like it was his own. His heart was a tangled web that snagged nasty painful feelings and let them flail mercilessly; while letting the good things pass through the holes, grazing him but never sticking. Never filling him up.

Cas had wanted more than anything to mend what was broken in Dean. To do for Dean what Dean had begun to do for him. Heal.

But Dean would have had to let Cas in first. The way Cas had let the Winchesters in. Dean wasn’t ready for that. Cas could feel his defenses radiating from him.

How do you go about mending something you can’t reach?

The best Cas could give Dean…was distraction.

So that’s what Cas did. He grabbed Dean Winchester by the coat, pulled him close and, good or bad, made him forget about everything else.

Cas traced his fingers across his lips, remembering the way it felt and feeling the strange smile that had refused to fade since.

But his smile did fade. When he rounded the hedges that lined his property and saw his father sitting on the front porch.

 

…

 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean threw his wrench into a pile of scrap metal, and shook out his injured hand.

Bobby Singer looked at him, one bushy eyebrow up. “You alright there?”

“I’m fine!” Dean barked, shoving his crushed finger between his lips, to sooth the throbbing.

“It’s just, that’s the fifth time you’ve-”

“I know how many times it’s been Bobby!” Dean held up his bruised and beaten hand as proof that he was, indeed, aware he had smashed it five times.

Bobby leveled his gaze on Dean and raised his voice. “Well excuse me for being concerned! I thought it was worth noting that you been distracted all day.” Bobby’s agitation grew as he spoke. “You tried to install a battery backwards on that Chevelle, tried to put the wrong size spark plugs in the GT and I swear you’ve completely forgotten how to change wheel bearings!” Bobby snatched up Dean’s discarded wrench and shoved it at the young man’s chest. “So you wanna tell me where your head is, or do you need to take the rest of the day off?”

Dean took the wrench and shook his head. He couldn’t imagine how to begin to tell Bobby what had been on his mind all day. Hell; what had been on his mind all week!

Every time Dean thought he’d gotten past it, Cas’ Kamikaze kiss would pop up in his head. Much like the actual kiss, the memory of it would just suddenly come out of nowhere, emptying Dean of any coherent thought and leaving him stunned and useless.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get it together.” Dean said apologetically.

“I hope so.” Bobby readjusted his cap. “Cause this ain’t the kinda work you can do with your head in the clouds. I know a mechanic with one hand. Ask me how he changes oil?” He demanded.

Dean just stared at Bobby, nonplused.

“Ask me.” Bobby repeated.

“How does he-”

“He doen’t!” Bobby snapped. Then he turned and stalked off towards the house at the edge of the auto lot. His half uttered grumblings fading as he went.

Dean let out a heavy sigh and sank down on the front bumper of the El Camino he was working on. He dropped his head in his hands and groaned. This whole thing was a mess!

What the hell had happened? What did that kiss even mean? Dean had no idea Cas was even into guys! Did Cas think he was into guys? Had Dean done something to lead Cas on? Dean needed answers. He needed closure.

But Dean hadn’t heard from Cas in a week. The last time Dean saw or spoke to him was that night, on New Years Eve. He figured Cas must have felt more awkward about the situation than he had initially let on. He was probably laying low. Probably waiting to see if Dean was upset with him.

Dean wasn’t even sure if he was or wasn’t upset with Cas. He didn’t want to be. He wanted to be there for Cas. Be his friend. He felt like he needed to be. But what was Dean supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to be supportive if he couldn’t even string together two sentences to say to the guy?

The worst part was that Dean was so conflicted over something that should have been so simple. He should know if he was upset or not. He shouldn’t be confused about whether he felt flattered or violated. He should be able to tell if he felt betrayed or aroused by a memory.

“Damn you Cas! Why did you have to bring your complicated shit into my life?”

Dean would be lying if he didn’t admit that he was damaged goods. He was no different from Cas in that regard. But the one thing Dean always had going for him, was that he knew who he was. Always. And now he had to question that.

Was he the guy who is loyal to his friends?

Was he the guy who stuck up for himself?

Was he the guy who was confident in his sexuality?

Was he the guy who knew he didn’t deserve the affection of someone like Cas? Or Jimmy? Or Sammy? Or Bobby? Or his Dad?

Dean had been thinking about all of this for days and he was no closer to any form of clarity.

Sometimes Dean would think about how Cas had risked their fairly new friendship on something Dean hadn’t even understood and he would end up completely pissed off! And other times he would feel guilty because he couldn’t imagine how brave Cas had to be to do something like that. But Dean was most disturbed by those times he would catch himself just thinking about that kiss at the worst possible times. When he was at work, while at the table with his dad and Sam, while driving.

In the shower.

Dean had been sexually active for longer than most guys his age had been interested in girls. Yet he had never once done anything that he could remember in such vivid detail, as that kiss with Cas.

He could remember being surprised by Cas’ firm grip and the little jerk that had pulled them together. The way Cas’ whole body seemed to sigh against him, like he’d been waiting so long for this to happen. He remembered how warm Cas’ hand felt on his chest, and wishing for a split second he could be that warm everywhere. Dean remembered the urge to push his tongue between Cas’ soft lips.

And then he remembered realizing that he wasn’t pressed against the soft, curved body of a girl. Cas’ was firm and hard just like Dean. He was almost as tall as Dean. And even though Cas and Jimmy were built leaner than he and Sam, Dean wasn’t entirely certain that Cas wasn’t just as strong as he was.

This is when Dean would start to panic.

Dean didn’t like feeling like he wasn’t in control. He didn’t like being unable to control his own thoughts. He certainly didn’t like the idea of not being in control of his body. Vulnerability didn’t suit Dean.

And Cas had rendered him vulnerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is late and it's kind of short. This has been a hellish week! I hope you enjoy it and I apologize in advance for spelling and punctuation errors, I haven't had a chance to proof read it properly. As always thanks for your patience, loyalty to this fic and for the very valuable feedback.


	12. Our Worst Fears

The first week that Cas didn’t show up for work, Ellen thought he had quit. When another week passed and he hadn’t come to pick up his last check, she called to make sure he was alright. There was no answer. Ellen left a message, but Cas never returned her call. She waited and called again. Nothing.

On Friday of the second week, Ellen was just about to say screw it and mail the damn thing to Cas, when she got another idea. She went into her files and pulled out Castiel’s application. She recognized the name Cas had listed as his emergency contact. John Winchester.

It had been years since Ellen last spoke to John. And that hadn’t been the most cordial of exchanges.

John picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“John, it’s Ellen Harvelle.” She said. There was a brief pause in which Ellen was sure John was debating whether to hang up the phone.

“Ellen. How are you?” John’s voice was measured. Polite. Not insincere.

“Thanks for asking, but if it’s all the same to you, this isn’t a social call.” Ellen always had a talent for dispensing with pleasantries. “I’m calling because I can’t get in touch with an employee of mine, and your number was listed to contact in case of an emergency.”

“Oh?” John sounded genuinely surprised.

“Castiel Novak.” Ellen confirmed.

“Yeah, I know Cas. Is something wrong with him?” John asked.

“Was hopping you could tell me. He hasn’t showed up for work in two weeks. Hasn’t even come by to pick up his check. The home phone is a dead end, been calling it for days.” Ellen sounded legitimately concerned. “He’s only been working for me for about a month but…this isn’t like him. He’s always here, always on time. Cas isn’t a slacker. I just can’t picture him ‘no showing’ like this. Hell, the kid tells me every time he has to go to the bathroom!”

John was already up and grabbing his coat.

“It’s alright, I’ll drive over there and check on him.” He said.

Ellen was quiet on the other line for a moment.

“You think that’s a good idea?” She asked

“You called me Ellen. What did you expect I would do?” John replied.

“Listen John,” Ellen retorted. “I’m not asking for you to go over there. I know your families have a history and my intention wasn’t to cause trouble for anyone. The boy had you down as his emergency contact and I just wanted to see if you knew something, is all.”

“Well I don’t know anything.” John said, swiping his keys off the kitchen counter. “But I’m gunna find out.”

…

Zachariah Novak’s car wasn’t at his house, but Cas’ bike was. John couldn’t think of a single reason why Cas wouldn’t be here. He stood on the front porch of their house, knocking, and then pounding, on the door for close to five minutes. There was no answer. John didn’t want to leave. Something just didn’t feel right. John tried the doorbell one last time and was just about to go when he heard the faint sound of shuffling coming from inside the house. John lowered his ear to the door.

“Cas?” He called out. “Cas, it’s John Winchester.”

The shuffling sound, that had been growing closer to the door, suddenly stopped.

“Ellen sent me to check on you.” John continued. “She’s real worried. We both are.”

Nothing.

John’s naturally commanding voice softened. “If you could just open the door for a minute…we just want to make sure you’re alright, son.”

There was silence for what felt like an eternity and then John heard the deadbolt on the door click and the chain slide.

John wasn’t prepared for what he saw when the door opened.

Cas’ face was completely black on the left side. His lip was healing, but John could clearly see where it had been split. His left eye was red, like a blood vessel had burst. His left arm was drawn up and his fingers curled unnaturally.

John felt his blood boil. “Tell me what happened?” He calmly demanded.

Cas dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head. “I can’t.” He said feebly.

“You can. You can trust-”

“I can’t!” Cas said louder and shook his head harder. This made Cas’ head spin and caused him to sway. He had to steady himself against the door with his one good arm.

John looked Cas over more intently and realized the boy wasn’t just injured. He was sick.

In stark contrast to the bruising, the rest of Cas’ skin was frighteningly pale. Even his lips. Everything but the dark circle under Cas’ one good eye. His dark hair was damp. It stuck to his sweaty temples. John reached out and covered Cas’ forehead with his palm. He didn’t have to be an expert to know that the boy had a dangerously high fever. Cas’ forehead was practically on fire.

“You’re burning up. You’re dehydrated. How long have you had fever?” John asked.

Cas shrugged. “Few days.”

“We have to get you to the hospital.” John said reaching out to take Cas by the arm.

Cas suddenly gripped John’s wrist with a strength John hadn’t thought was possible, in his condition.

Despite the bruising obscuring half his face, John could clearly see the horror on Castiel’s expression. “Please don’t.” Cas begged. “He’ll kill me if anyone finds out.”

Cas didn’t know it, but John would never let that happen.

John could have tried to convince Cas to go to the hospital…or he could have made an executive decision and forced him to go…but more than he needed a hospital, John could see that Cas needed someone he could trust.

For whatever reason Cas had trusted John enough to name him as his emergency contact. And if John forced Cas to go to the hospital now, he would unravel whatever had made Cas put faith in John, in the first place.

“Where is your father now?” John asked. It was too late in the day for him to still be at work.

“He left an hour ago.” Cas said softly. He swallowed and winced with the effort. “He…he’s spending the weekend with his girlfriend. He’ll be back on Sunday.”

John felt a quiet rage slowly building in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t imagine what sort of man left his sick child home alone, so he could be with a woman.

Obviously the same sort that would beat his own child black and blue.

“Alright.“ John said, nodding thoughtfully to himself. “Here’s the deal. I won’t make you go to the hospital…if you agree to come back to the house with me until I can get your fever to break. I promise to have you back here before your dad comes home.”

Cas seemed to consider his options and must have ultimately decided that John’s offer was fair, because he nodded ineffectually.

“I’ll get my things.” He said.

John’s heart broke as he watched Cas turn and walk back into the house. There was a very subtle limp in his step.

The thing that made John the angriest, was that he couldn’t imagine what Cas could have done to evoke this sort of wrath. The boy was as quiet and gentle as they come. Very respectful, and a hard worker according to Ellen. John’s sons were loud, rude, obnoxious, sometimes disrespectful and occasionally lazy, but John would be damned if he didn’t love them more than anything in the world.

What sort of evil lurked in the heart of a man who could ever desire to hurt someone as meek and good natured as Castiel?

…

Shit.

Something was wrong.

Dean knew it the moment he walked through the door, and saw his father and brother sitting solemnly at the kitchen table, speaking in hushed tones. They both got quiet and gave him wary glances when he came in the room.

“What?” Dean asked, not a little nervous.

“Dean.” John began. “You should come sit down.” His father pulled out a chair next to him, at the table.

“What is this? You guys are freaking me out.” Dean shifted anxiously from one foot to the next.

“Just come sit down, son.” John restated.

Dean gave an obedient nod and took his seat at the small table, in-between where John and Sam sat on the ends. Dean didn’t like the way this situation felt. It felt like his dad and brother were about to tell him they were getting a divorce. Dean grew antsy with every passing millisecond that he was left in the dark.

“Okay. I’m sitting.” He said, somewhat agitated.

“It’s about Cas, Dean.” John said seriously.

Dean felt his blood run cold and his heart drop to his stomach.

Shit! Shit! Shit! This could not be happening!

Dean couldn’t believe his father had found out about Cas kissing him. But how? Had Cas told him? Surely not! Dean looked at Sam whose eyes were cast down on the table. Had his little brother seen more than Dean thought? Oh God! What if Sam had seen them kissing but hadn’t seen who initiated it, and thought Dean kissed Cas? Was this some sort of gay intervention?

It had been two weeks since Dean had seen or heard from Cas. It felt like a lot longer. It felt like months. Dean thought he was in the clear on this whole kiss thing. That it was just some random unexplained fluke that was in the past, and the next time he saw Cas things would be business as usual. How the hell had Dean been blindsided like this?

Play it cool, said Dean’s inner voice. Just play it cool.

“What about Cas?” Dean asked as nonchalantly as he could muster.

“Cas’ father has been abusing him.” John said bluntly.

That was not what Dean had been expecting at all.

It took a moment for Dean to process what John had just said. What sort of abuse were we talking about here? A flood of unwanted images filled his head. Loathsome, disgusting images that made bile rise in Dean’s throat.

Suddenly, a rush of emotion was threatening to throttle him. Wrath. Disgust. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Guilt. Confusion. Anxiety. Finally he settled, as he usually did, on rage. Dean felt his fingers twitch, yearning to curl into firsts.

“Did he…” Dean let his sentence trail off, uncertain how to proceed. Luckily John guessed what he was getting at.

 

“As far as I know, it’s just physical and verbal. Not that that isn’t enough. If Zachariah does anything else to Cas, I don’t know.” John shook his head. “I don’t feel like now is the time to press Cas for answers.”

“So how do you know all of this? Cas told you?” Dean asked.

John exchanged meaningful glances with Sam. Their expressions said that they had previously discussed this scenario, and had decided to proceed with caution. It was Sam who answered.

“Dad went over to the Novak’s earlier today.” Sam said.

“What!? Why?” Dean demanded. He looked like he was ready to come out of his chair. Zachariah Novak hated the Winchesters, largely and reasonably due to Dean. Nothing good could have come from his father paying them a visit.

“Ellen Harvelle called me. Cas hasn’t been to work in two weeks.” John replied. “She got worried when she didn’t hear from him.”

“But she called you?” Dean was confused. “I don’t get it?”

John shrugged. “Cas had me listed as his emergency contact.”

That’s when it hit Dean. Just how alone Cas was in the world. His emergency contact was his dead brother’s, best friend’s father? There was no one else he could have listed? No one?

For all Dean knew, he Sam and their dad were the only friends Cas had in the world. The Winchesters. The family Cas’ violent, alcoholic father hated most in the world. Dean never realized it until this moment, but Cas had taken a big risk reaching out to them.

“How bad was it?” Dean asked. He was positive he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Bad.” Sam said quietly.

Dean shot him a surprised look. “You went too?”

Sam shook his head.

“I brought Cas here.” John clarified. “He’s not just beat up, Dean. He’s sick. Really sick.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “What did Cas’ old man have to say about that?”

John shook his head. “Zachariah wasn’t home. He’s off spending the weekend with some woman.“

“Where’s Cas?” Dean demanded. “Is he here right now?”

The more the conversation progressed, the more questions Dean had, and the less he liked the answers he received. He grew more anxious by the moment. It felt like someone had rammed a corkscrew into his stomach and was slowly winding up his insides. He just wanted to bypass all of this “preparatory” crap and see Cas for himself. Dean wasn’t good at talking shit out. He wanted to fix things the only way he knew how. With his bare hands.

John held out a hand as if to warn Dean against making a brash decision. “He’s upstairs in the shower. We’re trying to break his fever.”

Dean didn’t wait for further information. He was pushed back from the table and up from his chair in the blink of an eye. He made it all the way to the stairs before Sam tore after him.

“Dean! Wait a second!” Sam called after his big brother.

John was on his feet and right after them.

“Dean. Dean!” John called after his eldest son.

Dean couldn’t be swayed to slow down.

…

Dean gave no mind to Cas’ privacy as he burst into the bathroom he shared with Sam.

The upstairs bathroom wasn’t large and it didn’t have a tub. Just a modest sink, toilet and a small shower with a glass door. Dean could easily see through the door, but he ripped it open anyway. Cas was stripped to the waist, sitting on the tile floor of the shower, hugging his knees. Dean could tell the spray falling on him was pretty cold, from the way he was shivering.

Cas lifted his head and his weary blue eyes met Dean’s furious green ones.

Dean took in everything from the visceral red eye, to the carnage of bruising that didn’t end on Cas’ face. All the way down Cas’ arm, ribcage and part of his back was black and blue. The edges of his bruises had that greenish tent to them that told Dean they weren’t fresh.

But what sucked the air right out of Dean’s lungs, wasn’t the bruises or the eye or what appeared to be a sprained arm. It was the, almost undetectable, white lines that streaked Cas’ pale back. Dean knew what old scars looked like. He had a few.

“Dean. Why don’t you give Cas some privacy.” John Winchester’s voice came from the open door behind Dean.

“It’s okay Reverend Winchester.” Cas’ voice was quiet and weak but, unusually enough, unbroken by his shivering. “I wouldn’t mind some company.” Cas tired to sound reassuring, that Dean wasn’t bothering him.

Dean turned back to see if his father looked reassured.

John pointed to a thermometer laying on the bathroom sink. “Remind him to check his temperature again in ten minutes. Sammy’s gunna help me start dinner.” And then he closed the bathroom door and headed back down stairs.

There was a long moment where Dean just stared at Cas and Cas fixated on the shower drain. Dean finally noticed Cas’ cheeks had begun to flush from the intense scrutiny, when Cas cleared his throat. Dean averted his eyes awkwardly.

“Sorry… Didn’t mean to stare.” Dean said.

Cas just shrugged.

Leaving the door open, Dean leaned against the wall next to the shower and sank down on the floor. He dropped his face in his hands for a quiet moment and then let out a huff as he pushed his fingers through his short cropped hair.

“Dude…Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I?” Cas looked at Dean, brows furrowed. He seemed legitimately confused.

“Why-” Dean stared at Cas in gross disbelief. “Cas you’re our friend! You’re my friend. If I had known.-”

Cas’ shook his head and interrupted Dean. “There is nothing you could have done.”

“Bullshit!” Dean barked. “If you think that I would have just let this slide, then you obviously don’t know jack about me.”

“Oh I know you.” Cas leveled a fierce gaze on him, that Dean wouldn’t have expected. “I might not have been your friend in high school, but I knew about you. The whole town did. Everyone knows Dean Winchester has a temper. Dean Winchester is just as likely to punch you in the face as say hello. Dean Winchester doesn’t think twice about ruining a girl's reputation. Dean Winchester is a cocky asshole who will ‘fuck you up’ if you mess with his friends. You’ve practically made it your life’s ambition to be known as the guy who shoots first and asks questions later. ” Dean couldn’t understand it, but Cas was looking at him like he was angry with him. “So you see Dean, I know you well enough. I knew telling you anything would have just resulted in you doing something really stupid.”

Dean was floored. He just stared at Cas indignantly. It wasn’t as if Dean hadn’t been called out before. His dad, Sam and Bobby loved to give it to him straight. Hell, Jimmy used to do it like it was his job. But Cas?

Dean shut his mouth and snatched the thermometer off of the bathroom sink. He pressed the button to turn it on and unceremoniously shoved it between Cas’ quivering lips.

“Don’t talk or we won’t get an accurate reading.” Dean sniped.

There was a twitch of a grin at the corner of Cas lips as Dean sank back against the bathroom wall and sulked.

For what felt like a long time there was nothing but the sound of the shower. And then three long beeps denoted that the thermometer was finished reading Cas’ temperature. Dean reached over to Cas and snatched the device out of his mouth.

“101.5 degrees.” Dean whistled. “How high was your fever?”

“104.” Cas replied. His voice was finally starting to shake from the cold. Dean noticed his shivering had become more violent.

“Jesus…” Dean breathed.

Dean watched Cas tremble in the shower and tried not to think about what would have happened if his dad hadn’t gone to check on him.

“Cas…I’m sorry you couldn’t trust me.” Dean said.

Cas didn’t really seem to understand what Dean meant.

“I don’t want to be the guy who ‘shoots first and asks questions later.’” Dean clarified. “I want to be the guy his friends can count on. I want to be the guy who takes care of the people he cares about.” Dean wasn’t able to make eye contact with Cas. “I always thought that’s what I was doing. Making a name for myself so I could protect my family and friends. I thought if everyone else was scared of me, the people I loved would be safe. It never really occurred to me that the people I loved might be scared of me too.”

“They aren’t scared of you Dean.” Cas said. “They're scared for you.”

Dean detected something in his voice that made him look at Cas. Really look at him.

He hadn’t noticed it before-maybe because of the bruising on Cas’ face, or because of the water from the shower, or because Dean thought the trembling had been from the cold-but Cas was crying. Cas must have seen the recognition on Dean’s face because as soon as Dean realized it, Cas broke down and started sobbing into his hands.

How had this happened? Dean couldn’t remember what he had done to become so important to Cas. But more importantly, when had Cas become so important to Dean?

Dean felt an awful rending in his chest. He could literally see Cas unraveling right in front of him, and it was one of the worst things Dean had ever experienced in his life.

Stop. Stop. Stop! Please stop Cas I don’t know how to fix this! Dean was screaming internally.

Dean didn’t know what else to do. On pure instinct, he climbed into the shower with Cas, fully dressed. Settling a leg on either side of his battered body, Dean pulled Cas back against his chest and held onto him. Dean wiped Cas’ wet hair out of his face and rested his chin atop Cas' head.

The harder Cas cried the tighter Dean held him.

Go ahead and fall apart if you need to, Dean thought. I’ll just hold you together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to give you guys a longer chapter than usual to make up for how short the past two have been. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> This week I'm going to be overhauling this fic. Not the story just the title, chapter titles and tags, because I just sort of half assed them and I'm not happy with it.
> 
> Also I've been making a playlist of this songs I've been listening to while writing this. I was reluctant to share it as "the official soundtrack" for this fic because a lot of it is not the usual Supernatural/Dean Winchester genre. And because some of the songs inspired ideas for later chapters that haven't been published yet. But this music is what has driven this story, so even if it's not what you imagine Dean listens to in the Impala, I still think it will be relevant.
> 
> You guys can expect that playlist with the next chapter.
> 
> As always I look forward to your feedback!


	13. A Fool Who Plays It Cool

“Are we going to the doctor?” Castiel asked.

“Nope.” His mother replied with a smile.

“Then why did you check us out of school?” Jimmy asked.

Anna flashed her boys a charming smile, in the rearview mirror. “Do I need a special reason for wanting to spend the day with my favorite fellas?”

“What are we going to do?” Cas inquired, fumbling with his seatbelt.

Jimmy reached over and clicked Cas’ seatbelt into place, before giving it a tug to be sure it was secure. Then he buckled his own and gave his twin a playful wink.

“That, my sweet boy…” Anna said, between reapplying her lipstick. “…is a surprise.”

When Cas and Jimmy were little, their family moved around a lot. The boys were never in the same school for longer than a year. Their mother was a traveling nurse and their father worked construction; which meant that Anna was the bread winner, and Zachariah had to find work wherever she was sent. Needless to say, that did more than a little damage to Zachariah’s pride. When they were newlyweds, they couldn’t have been happier. But over the years (the let down of unrealistic expectations, the sacrifices that led to a slow build of resentment, and two unexpected children later) things had somehow grown strained.

Somewhere in the chaotic shuffle that was the Novak family’s life, the twins had found a rhythm. They learned to slip under the radar, keep outsiders at an arm’s length, and to rely only on one another. The Novak twins might not have been brilliant in a traditional sense, but they were exceptionally adaptable.

When they first moved to Lawrence, from their previous home in Arizona, the boys were supposed to be in the sixth grade. Due to a clerical error, they were placed in the seventh grade. No one was the wiser for five months; and by then the boys had done so well, without missing a beat, that the school board decided to keep them in their advanced placement.

Jimmy and Cas might not have been particularly social or exceptionally academic; but they were considered generally well adjusted. No one would have guessed what sort of storms were brewing in their home life. Not even Jimmy or Cas.

The day their mother checked them out of school to play hooky, was the first and the last red flag they ever saw.

Cas played that day over and over in his mind all the time. He could remember so many small silly details like, the confetti print carpet in the theatre, and the lingering smell of popcorn. He could still practically hear his mom’s laughter during the movie. She had sat between them, with an arm stretched around either of their shoulders, occasionally stroking their heads. After the movie they went for ice cream, where Jimmy challenged their mother to a duel that ended in brain freezes, funny faces, and hysterical laughter. Cas couldn’t remember another time she had seemed so happy.

Which is why he couldn’t make sense of anything that happened afterwards.

Cas and Jimmy woke up the next morning, to the sound of glass breaking. Their father was on a rampage, destroying everything in the house that Anna had abandoned. Cas never did find out what was in the note that she left for Zachariah. He always wondered if she had explained why she decided not to take him and his brother with her. Maybe that note had said exactly what it was he and Jimmy had done to make her want to leave them behind. But Cas would never know, because Zachariah had burned that note in the front yard with all of their family photos.

Neither his father, nor his brother ever mentioned Anna again after that. Her memory hung in the air like a suffocating cloud of smoke, that everyone refused to acknowledge.

That was the beginning of the end.

Jimmy hardened. Zachariah drank. And Cas was left alone with all of the heartbreak.

Jimmy and their dad were content to go on as if Anna had never existed. But not Cas. He became obsessed with figuring out why his mother had left him. He knew better than to talk about her to his father. Jimmy wasn’t interested either. With no one to turn to, Cas begin to internalize everything, until he felt as far from Earth as a boy could feel.

Cas and Jimmy grew apart. Cas failed eighth grade. Jimmy went on to high school and made new friends. Zachariah started dating again; string after string of substance abusing, moochers traipsed through their lives. The violence started after the first breakup.

Zachariah beat Jimmy one time, and one time only.

It was after Jimmy had become friends with Dean Winchester. After the beating, Jimmy waited until his father passed out, then busted a bottle of Jack Daniels over his face. Zachariah instantly woke up in a fit of rage, but found Jimmy was standing over him with the broken bottle in his hand. The boy didn’t have to say anything for Zachariah to know that if he ever touched Jimmy again, Jimmy would kill him. The abuse became mostly verbal after that night. Jimmy would take that. Until he wouldn’t.

Cas wasn’t so bold.

Jimmy tried to stand up for Cas when he could. Much to Jimmy’s chagrin, Cas discouraged this. Jimmy thought his brother was trying to be brave. What he didn’t know, was that Cas was too ashamed to tell Jimmy that there were worse things their father could do to him.

The first time Zachariah touched Cas was the night Jimmy threatened to report him to the cops. Jimmy had come home from school to find Cas with a swollen lip.

“If I ever see another mark on him, I swear to God I’ll fucking end you!” Jimmy had screamed.

Zachariah left plenty of marks on Cas after that. But they were never places that Jimmy could see.

Castiel learned to live in the Hell that was his life. He figured out quickly, that a new girlfriend meant the abuse would stop for a while; and that a breakup meant to brace himself. He learned he could draw his father’s rage off Jimmy, by offering himself instead. He come to understand that keeping quiet meant keeping the peace.

Mostly, he learned that Jimmy was the only one of them, that had a chance in hell of getting out of this life. But his noble brother would gladly throw that away, in a moment, if it meant protecting Castiel. Which is why Cas couldn’t let him do that.

The next time their father ever beat Cas was the night Jimmy snuck out of the house. All Cas could think about, was everything Jimmy was going to throw away when he found out.

…

There was not much rest to be had in the feverish throws of Cas’ nightmares. But finally, his fever broke sometime in the night.

Castiel was not the only one having a restless night in the Winchester house.

Across the hall from Sam’s barrowed bedroom, Dean Winchester tossed and turned with nightmares of his own.

 

…

 

“Dean?” Jimmy’s familiar voice was thick was with exhaustion. Dean looked over to see Jimmy slumped against the window of the Impala, for the six hundredth time. Jimmy’s eyes were still closed.

“Yeah buddy…” Dean said, as he always did. “what’s up?”

“You know I would do anything for you right?” Jimmy finally opened his heavy lids, his cold, black eyes fixed on Dean. “You’re like a brother to me.”

Dean knew what was coming next. And yet, no matter how many times this scene played out, he could never really prepare himself for it. “Yeah man, I know.” Was always his reply. “We’re family.”

“I need a favor, Dean.” Jimmy would ask.

“I’m sorry, buddy.” Dean would say. “I can’t help you.”

“It’s really important, Dean.”

“I want to but I can’t.”

“Please, Dean.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you. I let you down.”

Dean would always wake up with an overwhelming bleakness, growing in his chest.

…

Sam was passed out like a stone, on the living room couch, when Dean snuck down to the kitchen, in the middle of the night.

Dean had long since given up on going back to bed, after having the Jimmy nightmares. He quietly and methodically shifted through the fridge, until he realized he didn’t really have an appetite, and settled on a glass of water instead.

Dean sat alone, in the dark, at the kitchen table for what felt like hours. He thought about all of the things that were wrong in his world, and how he wanted to change them, but couldn’t. Dean felt so completely lost.

“What the hell do I do now?” He asked. “Can’t you just…cut us a break?”

Dean had already spoken before he even realized who he was talking to.

Dean Winchester was praying.

Reverend John Winchester had been a man of God for as long as Dean had been alive. Dean’s father told him a lot of stories about the kind of man he was before he found faith. It didn’t sound like the kind of man Dean knew his father to be. John used to tell him and Sammy that he’d gone to Hell to find God. He might have been talking about his tour in the Marine Corps. Or he might have meant the season of alcoholism and rambling in the early years of his marriage. Dean never could get a clear timeline of his parents life before he had come along. Maybe that was because John couldn’t remember himself.

Either way, John turned to faith a short time before Dean was born, and had never looked back.

Dean used to believe in God when he was a boy. But after his mother died… It wasn’t that Dean stopped believing, he just stopped giving a crap.

A lot of people said things to him at her funeral like, “This is all part of a bigger plan” or “God has a purpose for everything” but none of that was comforting to Dean. He didn’t care about some grand plan or divine purpose. He just wanted his mother back. That funeral was the last time Dean went to church. After a year, even his father stopped trying to convince him to go.

But now here he was; between a rock and a hard place, without much hope.

“I know it’s been a long time since we talked.” Dean said to the glass of water in front of him. “And that’s on me, I’ll own up to that.”

Dean heard Sam stir a little in the living room. When his little brother fell silent again, Dean cleared his throat and continued his prayer.

“I get that I’m not in a position to be calling in any favors. I know that. But I’m not asking for me, you understand. Sammy, my dad, Jimmy…Cas. They all deserve better than me.” Dean wiped away the wetness on his face, with the back of his hand. “But they haven’t got better. They’ve just got me. I hate it, but there it is! So…what I’m saying is…I sure hope you’ve got some plan for how all of this is going to work out. And if so, you might want to clue me in.”

 

…

 

Sam’s bedroom door was cracked, and Dean could hear Cas’ exasperated breathing from the hall.

He stood in the doorway and listened for a while. Sometimes there were fretful moans and choked whimpers. Dean could only imagine what terrors threatened Castiel in his sleep.

Dean remembered how his mom used to soothe him when he’d have nightmares. What he wouldn’t give to have her here tonight? She would sit next to him on his bed, gently rub his back and sing to him.

“Hey, Jude, don't make it bad,  
Take a sad song and make it better.  
Remember to let her into your heart,  
Then you can start to make it better…”

Dean found himself quietly humming the tune of his childhood lullaby; and when he did, Cas would settle.

“…Anytime you feel the pain, hey jude, refrain,  
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.  
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool  
By making his world a little colder.”

Dean closed the door to Sam’s room behind him, as he made his way to were Cas’ sleeping body lay. Dean pulled back the blankets, climbed into bed behind Cas, and slowly slipped his hand beneath the boy’s shirt. He could feel the rigid lines of Cas’ scars, beneath his fingertips.

“So let it out and let it in, hey, Jude, begin,  
You're waiting for someone to perform with.  
And don't you know that it's just you, hey, Jude,  
You'll do, the movement you need is on your shoulder.”

When Dean finished humming Cas was still, quiet and breathing deeply. Thinking he was fast asleep, Dean stopped rubbing Castiel’s back and started to pull his hand out from under his shirt.

“Why did you stop?” Cas’ voice in the dark, startled Dean.

Shit.

“How long have you been awake?” Dean felt his face grow hot.

“Since I felt you climb into bed.” Cas said dispassionately. “What was that song?”

“Oh? Uh. That was ‘Hey Jude’ you know, the Beatles? My mom used to sing it to me when I was a kid.”

Castiel shifted and nestled closer to Dean, until they were practically spooning. Dean’s hand slipped from Cas’ back to his ribcage. His skin was hot. Dean thought, from the fever, but it wasn’t.

“Interesting song for a lullaby.” Cas noted.

Dean snorted nervously. “Yeah well, she was an interesting woman.”

“I would liked to have met her.” Cas replied.

“Yeah…” Dean swallowed hard. “She would have liked that too.”

Dean let his hand wander to Cas’ stomach. He felt Cas’ muscles twitch beneath his hand, and heard him suck in a quick breath of air, through his teeth.

“Does it hurt?” Dean asked.

“No.” Cas breathed.

Dean would have thought that this moment would be different. He wouldn’t have guessed that there would be no fight. Where was the internal struggle? The deliberations? The moment of doubt?

Maybe it was because he had spent all of his energy sorting out his feelings over their first kiss. Perhaps it was because he was too emotionally exhausted to take on another moral dilemma. Or maybe it was just that something felt right, for once. Whatever the reason, right now, Dean didn’t care if Cas was a boy or a girl or fucking extra terrestrial! He just wanted to comfort and be comforted.

Dean sat up and pulled Cas into his lap. He yanked his own t-shirt off before helping Cas tug his up, and over his head; obviously being mindful of Cas’ injuries. With Cas’ naked back flush against the bare skin of his chest, Dean took a handful of disheveled black hair, and gently coaxed Cas to expose his throat to him. Cas relented, laying his head on Dean's shoulder.

At this point Cas was trembling a little, and Dean could feel knots of lean muscle bunching in anticipation. Or maybe fear. Dean loosened his grip on Cas’ hair and gently massaged his head.

“I’m not gunna hurt you.” Dean’s breath was hot on Castiel’s ear. It sent a shiver right down his spine.

Dean took Cas’ earlobe between his lips. The gentle scrape of teeth and shocking warmth of a wet tongue, caused Cas’ eyes to roll and eyelids to flutter. Dean kissed, nipped and sucked his way down the length of Cas’ neck to his collar bone. His free hand echoed the descent on Cas’ stomach.

Dean wisely claimed Cas’ mouth in a kiss, just as his hand disappeared beneath the waistband of the younger boy’s pajamas. The noise Cas made when Dean’s fist closed around him, was stifled by a skilled and expeditious tongue. Dean used his thumb to spread the natural lubricant Cas’ body was supplying. It didn’t take long for Dean’s expert strokes to produce a lewd, if involuntary, reaction in Cas. Dean felt himself growing hard beneath Cas' undulating hips. He made sure Cas was aware of the effect he was having on him. Dean bucked his hips against Cas, pressing the swollen evidence of his excitement into his back. That little move caused Cas to gasp into Dean’s mouth. Cas felt Dean’s wicked smile against his lips.

Dean tried to remember the last time something felt so intimate. So urgent. So necessary. So hot!

When was the last time he’d felt this kind of pride at giving pleasure?

Probably never.

Cas was so pure, so innocent. Dean would have thought he’d feel guilty for touching him this way. But what they were doing wasn’t defiling Cas. Cas couldn’t be defiled. This was Cas at his purest. This was as raw and honest as anyone would ever know him. At least Dean hoped so. The thought of someone else hearing his moans, of him writhing under someone else’s hands, it made Dean feel sick.

Cas let out a whimper when Dean released his cock without warning, and rolled Cas off his lap and onto his back.

Dean was on top of him in seconds, rolling his hips against Cas’ abandoned need. Both of them were wearing only thin, cotton pajamas, but even that seemed to be an enormous hindrance. Dean didn’t waste time getting fully undressed. He tugged the knot from the drawstrings of Cas’ pants, grabbed them by the waistband and forcefully yanked them down his hips, just far enough to expose him. Dean freed himself from enough of his remaining clothes, that he could finally lay skin to skin with Cas, where it mattered.

Dean groaned into Cas’ shoulder as they practically rutted. The hard, throbbing heat trapped between them was a lot more intense than Dean anticipated. There was a sharp pain in Dean’s back. Cas’ fingernails. Dean watched Cas’ face transform as the boy climaxed unexpectedly. Dean felt warmth pulsing between them, and their stomachs were suddenly slick with the product of Cas’ orgasm. Dean felt all his years of experience and practiced control slip through his fingers, like Cas’ sweaty hips. Dean came crashing down on Cas a few decisive thrusts later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!
> 
> Again, sorry this was late. I hope you all find it worth your while.
> 
> As promised, here is the Soundtrack I've been listening to while writing this fic. I'd love to hear any recommendations.
> 
> Bad Company - Bad Company  
> If I Die Young - The Band Perry  
> Bother - Corey Taylor  
> Dream On - Aerosmith  
> Give Me A Sign - Breaking Benjamin  
> Wheel In The Sky - Journey  
> Skyfall - Adelle  
> 45 -Shinedown  
> Young And Beautiful - Lana Del Rey  
> People That You Must Remember - Zulu Winter  
> Hey Jude - The Beatles  
> I Can't Make You Love Me - Bonnie Rait
> 
> Looking forward to your feedback, as always :)


	14. The Wrongs We Right

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you believe in God?”

Dean was relatively new to the whole postcoital conversation thing, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t standard pillow talk.

“Uh, yeah I guess so. Why? Do you?”

“I don’t know.” That was all Cas said for a long time. Then he asked another question. “Do you believe that things happen for a reason.”

Dean almost answered by default, but then he actually thought about it. Did he believe that things happened for a reason? Had there been a reason why his mother had been burned alive. Was there a reason Dean, his dad and Sammy had to figure out how to live without her? Why did good people die, while evil people lived? Where was the reason in that? What was the reason for Cas to be left alone in the world for so long, with no family to love him?

“Yeah, Cas. I’m sure everything happens for a reason.”

Cas didn’t say anything, but Dean got the feeling he was happy with his answer. Cas was out cold not long after that. Dean didn’t leave right away. He stayed by Cas until the bluish light of early morning illuminated Sam’s window.

Dean thought about all of the beds he’d eagerly crept out of in the middle of the night. How many times had he left someone to wake up to a broken heart? He couldn’t imagine doing that to Cas. He couldn’t very well stay, though. His father was an early riser. John might not have batted an eye about them being in the shower together-because they had been clothed and Cas was obviously grieving-but Dean didn’t know how he would explain them being half naked in bed together.

Despite how much he had opened up to John in recent days, this wasn’t a conversation Dean was ready to have with his dad.

What had happened between he and Cas had been a big deal. He couldn’t imagine Cas waking up alone and having to wonder, for even a minute, if Dean used him or if he regretted it. Dean already felt bad enough that he wasn’t ready to decide what last night had meant. He didn’t know if it was a one time thing, or if this meant he needed to reevaluate his life, or what!? All he knew was that, whatever it was, it had been wonderful. And he didn’t regret it for a second.

Dean carefully untangled himself from Cas and reclaimed his arm, which Cas had been using as a pillow. In the night, the dark had masked Cas’ injuries. But the early morning light revealed the bruises that served as a reminder of Zachariah’s wrath. Dean felt some strange and vengeful possessiveness seize him. He wanted to somehow scrub Cas’ skin clean of the bruises and the scars. Not because they were unsightly or because they disfigured Cas, but because of how they made Dean feel. Like Cas had been marked. Claimed. Some feral instinct in Dean made him want to erase that claim. Leave his own mark.

And that’s what he did.

Not a mark of pain and suffering, like the ones Cas’ father left behind. But something to remind Cas of their connection. Something created in pleasure. Like the scratch marks on Dean’s shoulders. Dean pulled back the covers and found a soft, clear spot just below Cas’ navel. At first he just planted a kiss there, but then he opened his mouth and started to gently nibble and suck. Cas moaned a little and shifted in his sleep.

Cas blushed when he found Dean's mark, later in the shower. Then he smiled.

…

 

Sam’s face lit up with one of his infectious smiles.

“Hey! Look who’s up!”

The youngest Winchester was seated at the breakfast table with his father. John looked up from where he was busy devouring a surreal stack of pancakes, when Sam spoke. He smiled, and washed down his mouthful of pancakes with a gulp of coffee, from his novelty revolver mug.

“Morning, Cas. You feel up to eating?” John asked, pulling out a chair for him and patting the seat.

Castiel hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he was asked. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the smells of coffee, syrup and bacon, and felt his gut wrench at its own emptiness. Cas couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything, and kept it down. He nodded his head vigorously and took a seat at the table. Sam didn’t wait for Cas to ask, he just loaded down a plate with food and sat it right in front of him.

“Coffee, OJ or milk?” Sam asked.

“Oh. Uh. Coffee, please.” Cas’ stomach wasn’t ready for juice or milk. There was a notable absence at the table. “Is Dean not joining us for breakfast?” Cas asked.

Sam scoffed. “We’ll be lucky if we see him before noon. He’s not really a morning person.”

Sam poured Cas a cup of coffee and secretly shot his father a hopeful grin. John flashed a smile back at his youngest son. It felt good to see Cas back on his feet. The boy, literally, looked ten times better than he had twenty-four hours ago. His skin was no longer clammy and pale. His un-bruised cheek was flush with color. The bruises didn’t seem so bad, now that they weren’t contrast against a lifeless pallor. Even the angry red eye was beginning to cool. The most notable change in him, was his vitality. Just yesterday, John would have described Cas as, appearing to be at death’s door. But this morning his was coherent with an appetite and a notable spring in his step.

This was a weight off John’s shoulders, because he knew it hadn’t been an easy night for Cas. When Dean never brought Cas down for dinner, John had gone up to check on them. He found them both huddled in the shower like a pair of pitiful drowned rats. Apparently Cas had experienced some mental break, and Dean was doing all he could to keep Cas from losing it completely. When Dean looked up at his father, it was with an expression that broke John’s heart. Because he recognized it.

It was that look that said, “Dad, I have to do something, but I don’t know what?”

The first time John saw that expression was at Mary’s funeral. Because, for the first time in Dean’s life, he was going through something so tough and monumental and the only person he had left to get him through it was also falling apart. It was the same look he had every time his new baby brother had cried and Dean didn’t know how to soothe him, because the one person who knew how was gone. John never wanted to see that look again.

After getting them both into dry clothes, trying and failing to get Cas to eat some soup, and putting Cas to bed, John had a long talk with Dean.

“You can’t do this son.” John had said bluntly.

“Do what?” Dean asked.

“You can’t try to take this thing on alone.” John tried to proceed with caution. He didn’t want to put Dean on the defensive. “I know what this means to you. You loved Jimmy like a brother. I know what you would have done for him. I know what you did do for him. What he did for you…” John could already see the burden of taking up Jimmy’s mantel weighing on Dean’s shoulders. “I know what you’re thinking. You think that it’s up to you to take care of Cas now.”

“It is!” Dean said sternly

“But it’s not, son. It doesn’t have to be just you.” John reached out to touch his son’s shoulder, but Dean pulled away.

“It isn’t right!” Dean shook his head and lowered his gaze to the floor. John could see an indelible shame in Dean’s eyes. “It isn’t right that Jimmy died and left him behind. Cas doesn’t have his brother to look out for him, and that is my fault.”

“No it isn’t, Dean.”

“How is it not!” Dean met his father’s gaze, and his eyes were furious. “You keep saying that, but you never tell me how it’s not my fault! Maybe I don’t need you to protect me. Have you thought that maybe I need you to be honest with me more than I need you to lie? All my life you’ve preached at me about how you serve a forgiving God, and how we all have to forgive ourselves. How am I supposed to get forgiveness if you keep telling me I haven’t done anything wrong.” Dean was exhausted and angry and hurting and John could see him starting to crack at the seams. “Dad, I messed up. I did, okay. Not just that night I snuck out and took the car but… I messed up everything. I did things…I’m not proud of. I hurt people. Used people. Pushed people away. I embarrassed my family. Jimmy wasn’t my mistake, Dad, he was the price I paid for ‘em.”

As a father, John’s instinct was to tell Dean that he was wrong, that innocent people were not paying for his past sins.

But as a man who dealt in lost souls, John knew that wasn’t what Dean needed. John was starting to understand what had happened at Strickland. Whatever Dean had done to extend his stay, he had done because he felt like he deserved to pay.

“Dean, all the penance in the world isn’t going to make you clean.” John felt his voice tremble. He would do anything not to tell Dean that all of his anguish had not been for nothing. “We are not purified by suffering, son. We are purified by the good we do. By the wrongs we right. And sometimes we can’t do things on our own, as much as we feel like we should. We’re not made like that. We’re made to lean on each other. To need each other. That’s man’s greatest power. His ability to help and be helped by his brother.”

John watched a single tear slide down Dean’s stoic face. John wished more than anything, that he could know what was going through his boy’s mind at that moment. Finally, Dean look his father in the eye and John watched him break.

“Dad, I...” Dean held out his hand hopelessly and John pulled his son into his embrace. “Dad, I need help.” Dean sobbed. “I need help.”

 

…

Sunday morning, when Zachariah Novak came home, John Winchester was waiting for him.

Zachariah didn’t recognize the pickup parked out front, but he instantly recognized the face of Dean Winchester’s father. John was sitting in the living room of the Novak house, in Zachariah’s favorite chair. Cas was no where in sight. John could see the surprise, confusion and finally rage play across Zachariah’s face.

“Where is my son?” He demanded.

“Why don’t you have a seat Mr. Novak. We need to talk.” John nodded at the couch across from where he sat. His tone was cool and even, with a practiced control that came from years of counseling others. This was exactly the sort of even temperament that would set off a man like Novak.

Zachariah’s brows went up in acute astonishment. “Why don’t you get the hell out of my house, you arrogant bastard.” His voice was manic, almost amused.

“You’re going to want to hear me out.” John warned.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Zachariah casually waltzed into the living room, and picked up the house phone from the end table, near the couch. “You have exactly ten seconds to vacate my property before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

John smiled cordially, and reached into his coat to pull out his silver Colt, which he casually laid across his lap. “And you have exactly three seconds to shut your mouth and sit down, before I send you to meet the Lord.”

Zachariah was taken completely off guard. There was a second of hesitation where he seemed to consider whether or not John was serious. Ulitmately he must have decided yes, because he put the phone down and slowly sank onto the couch, his eyes barely wavering from the gun resting on John’s knee.

“That’s more like it.” John smiled. “Besides, I don’t really think it would be in your best interest to involve the authorities.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Zachariah sneered. “I can’t imagine it would be real hard to get a restraining order against you. Especially now that you’ve threatened me.” Zachariah nodded in the direction of John’s Colt. “Not to mention your family’s track record. It was your delinquent son that killed my boy, Jimmy.”

“Yeah…I can see you’re real torn up about it.” All of the affronted congeniality was suddenly gone from John’s demeanor. What remained was the expression of a very angry, potentially dangerous man. John leaned forward, laced his fingers together and steepled them beneath his chin. “Go ahead. Call the police. You might want to get rid of all the empty liquor bottles and come up with an explanation for Castiel’s injuries before they get here.”

Zachariah clenched his jaw and his fists, but said nothing. Did nothing. Finally he broke away his gaze and furiously glared at the floor.

John nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Thought so.”

“What do you want?” Zachariah asked.

John lifted his brows in mock surprise. “Oh, this isn’t about what I want. This is about what you want. And what you want is to be left alone, so you can carry on with your miserable life doing…” John had the gun in his hand now, and was using it to gesture abstractly. “…Whatever it is that you do. And I’m going to graciously allow you to do that, provided you keep your toes on the line, from here on out.”

Zachariah actually let out a howl of wheezy laughter. “You’ll have a hard time convincing anyone that you have a case against me.” He leaned back on the couch, stretching out his arms as if to lounge. “Thanks to your son, your family’s reputation in this town isn’t as credible as it once was.”

John was on his feet and across the gap between them in seconds. He grabbed Zachariah by the collar and yanked him to his feet. Zachariah could feel something cold and blunt pressed beneath his chin.

There was a click, as John pulled back the hammer.

“You misunderstood me.” John said through clenched teeth. “I have no intentions of involving the police.”

John saw Zachariah’s eyes blow wide; felt the subtle tremble in his limbs.

“I’ve met plenty of men like you. You’re a coward. You’re all cowards. The question is…are you a smart coward?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gash this was such an emotionally draining chapter! I can't wait to hear what you guys thought about it.
> 
> I would like to thank my readers who have been so supportive and encouraging throughout this process and who continue to do so. We're a little more than 50% finished with this story, and I know you guys are eager to have answers and closure, and I swear it's coming! 
> 
> Special thanks to MonikerHazard who put together this playlist for the fic:  
> (http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL82e3GrseFafbP5_cbYmeii_FPqP6BJ5w)
> 
> And to DesMonTempts for this really cool banner/graphic/poster you can see here:  
> (http://talesbyanniecard.tumblr.com/post/49660671402/what-makes-a-righteous-man-supernatural-au-by)
> 
> And to KingJosieFrost for the copious encouragement!
> 
> I could actually go on and on. My readers are without a doubt the coolest people ever, and I love each and ever one of you!


	15. Happy Birthday Jimmy Novak

The old loft above the Roadhouse was full of junk, and everything in it was covered in an inch of dust. The loft its self was nothing special; just one large room with a small kitchenette and a modest bathroom. It hadn’t been used for anything other than storage since the fifties. Ellen weaved her way around old beer crates and a beat up pool table to get to the little kitchen sink. She turned on the faucet and listened to the pipes groan. After a moment, water began to sputter from the spigot.

“Ha! Whad’ya know? Water still runs up here, after all.”

Ellen’s daughter, Jo, was busy pulling dust tarps off of the larger pieces of furniture. She uncovered a stack of bar stools, a box full of dart boards and neon signs, an old booth and retro jukebox from before the Roadhouse was remodeled in the eighties, and various other discarded treasures.

“Damn.” Jo said, looking around at all of her findings. “This must be where everything awesome goes to die, when you replace it with honky-tonk crap.”

Ellen rolled her eyes. “What do you think Cas?” She asked, while opening the only window in the loft, to air out all the dust. “Once we move some of this junk out of here, it should be pretty livable.”

Cas gave a mute nod. He looked like Alice in Wonderland. He stood in the middle of the room, his curious eyes wide with awe, mouth slightly agape. Cas still couldn’t believe that, in few short weeks, he would be eighteen and living on his own. After a moment of gawking at what would soon be his new home, he finally summoned the wherewithal to speak.

“Are you sure this isn’t going to be an inconvenience for you?” Cas asked for the twentieth time.

“Yup, positive. You just pay for your utilities and take care of the odd maintenance, like we discussed. We’ve been needing an excuse to clean this shit out anyway. As you can probably tell, most of this has been here since Reagan was in office.” Ellen kicked a threadbare, brown and yellow, paisley lounge chair. She knew Cas probably didn’t own much in the way of furniture, and she was prepared to help him out with that. “If you wanna make use of any of this junk, you’re welcome to it. Whatever we don’t use, we’ll just throw out anyway.”

“I really appreciate that. But you guys don’t have to help me. I can clean all this up by myself. It’s nice enough that you’re letting me use this place.” Cas said.

“Bullshit!” Jo barked, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been begging mom to let me make this place into a hangout since I was twelve. No way you’re turning this loft into an sweet little man-cave without me.”

“I think what my bratty offspring is trying to say is that, we don’t mind. We wanna help.”

It had been just a little over a month, since John Winchester paid Cas’ father a visit. Zachariah was just as cold and hateful towards Cas as he’d ever been, but he hadn’t so much as laid a finger on him since that day. Cas could live with the distain, if it meant he could sleep in peace. At first, he had been terrified that John’s visit was only going to make things worse. But Zachariah must have believed that Rev. Winchester would make good on his threat, because he kept his hands to himself. Every couple of days John would call Cas at home, just to see how things were going and to remind Zachariah, least he forget, that Cas was under his protection.

That was when Cas realized, maybe there were some people in this world that he could count on.

Once his body began to heal, Cas went back to work . And that’s when he realized he had more friends than just the Winchesters. His first day back to the Roadhouse, Ellen wrapped him in a crushing hug. Then she smacked him and made him swear never to go AWOL again. Over time, Cas also came to befriend Ellen’s daughter Jo, who worked as a waitress and Ash, who ran the grill at the Roadhouse. Sometimes the three of them would hang out and play cards, after the bar closed down. More and more, Cas was finding that he enjoyed the company of other people.

And then of course, there was Dean.

Dean was an enigma. Cas couldn’t make heads or tails of him. Nothing else physical had happened between them, since that night in Sam’s room. But Dean hadn’t let a day go by without checking on Cas. He’d gotten into a routine of stopping by the Roadhouse, on his lunch break. Occasionally he brought his boss, Bobby Singer. After a while, the Roadhouse staff came to recognize Dean as a patron. Sometimes he would even come in after work and shoot pool with Ash or play darts with Ellen until Cas got off. Then he would load Cas’ bike in the trunk of the Impala, and take him home. Cas could never figure out what was going through Dean’s mind. Sometimes, he wanted to ask Dean if he ever thought about that night. But the time never seemed right.

Ellen helped Cas and Jo with the loft until things got busy downstairs, and then she had to go give Ash a hand. Several hours passed before she was able to come back up, and by then the place looked completely different.

The dust was gone and the hard wood floor was practically reflective. There was a lingering smell of pine and lemon. Most of the crates and unusable junk had been organized in neat stacks, by the door that led downstairs. A few of the better looking bar stools were pushed under the island bar; which separated the small kitchen from the rest of the room. Against the adjacent wall, the booth was set up as a kitchen table. Jo had found a working ‘Open Late’ sign, which decorated the wall above the booth. One corner of the loft was set up with the pool table, a few dart boards and the jukebox; which Cas and Jo were tinkering with, to see if they could get it working. There was an empty corner, near the bathroom. Ellen assumed that’s where Cas’ bed would eventually go.

Ellen couldn’t believe some of the things they found in all of the junk. There were some really cool vintage concert posters, a box of records for the jukebox, a set of mugs in the fashion of Mason jars, strands of plastic tube lights, a mirror with a retro Budweiser ad on it, and at least a dozen other unique things, piled on the pool table. Apparently those items’ fate had yet to be decided.

Ellen gave a long appreciative whistle, announcing her presence. “Wow…I hardly recognize this place.”

Jo poked her head out from behind the jukebox, and grinned at her mom. “Yeah, well…I always knew this place had potential.”

Cas’ face was streaked with dirt and his shirt was wet with sweat, but Ellen couldn’t remember a time she’d seen him look so happy. It was not as if she’d never seen Cas smile before. But his smiles were usually forced or timid. There was a constant weariness in Cas’ eyes, that he never seemed to shake. But Ellen didn’t see any traces of that now. He and Jo had been working hard, and anyone else would have looked tired as hell. But Cas’ was so full of energy. She couldn’t imagine how excited he must be to maintain that level of vigor after the amount of work he’d done.

“Well anyway, we’re closing up shop downstairs.” Ellen said, hand on her hips. “Ash is counting up the register, right now. I was just gunna see if you guys wanted to take a break for the night? Grab a burger or something, before I shut down the grill?”

“Uuuh. Yes pleeeease!” Jo said, standing up and dusting off her jeans. “I’m starving!”

“That would be very appreciated. Thank you.” Cas added, with a polite grin.

Ellen smiled back at them and shook her head. “Alright it’ll be ready in ten. Get cleaned up before you-” Something rolled up, beneath the pool table, caught Ellen’s eye. “The hell!? Is that a bear skin rug?”

 

…

 

“You want to bake a cake?” Dean asked his little brother, from under the hood of the Impala.

“Yeah. Cake. Ice cream. Streamers and balloons.” Sam leaned up against his brother’s car and crossed his arms. “The works!” He was really excited about his idea to throw Cas a surprise birthday party. “I already talked to Ellen about it. We can do it at the Roadhouse and-”

“Yeah, aren’t you forgetting that dad and Ellen don’t get along so well.” Dean reminded him.

Sammy rolled his eyes. “They’ll get along for Cas, Dean. Besides, Bobby will be there. Dad can hang out with Bobby.”

“I sill don’t see why we don’t just get him a cake from the bakery? You know…like normal people? Or better yet, forget the cake. Ice cream goes better with pie. If it was my birthday, I’d rather have pie instead of cake.”

“Well it’s not your birthday, Dean, it’s Cas’. Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“Trying.” Dean grunted. He didn’t have to look at Sam to know exactly which look his little brother was giving him.

“Try harder.”

Dean stopped what he was doing and stood up straight. “Sam, look, I want to do something nice for Cas just as much as you do. Trust me. I’m just not good at all of this…this planning shit. Whatever you decide to do, I’m sure he’s gunna love it. And I’ll be there and I’ll wear one of those dumb hats and blow on one of those noisy, paper, rolly upy things and sing “Jolly Good Fellow” and whatever else you want me to do. But, for the love of God, please just plan the damn thing and leave me out of the decision making process! Alright?”

“Whatever.” Sammy threw up his hands and stalked off.

Dean let out a defeated sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He really wished he had it in him to contribute. He thought it was really nice, what Sam was doing for Cas. But birthday parties and thoughtful gifts, that’s not where Dean’s strength lay. He was better at fixing things. Salvaging.

It was for that very reason that Dean was grateful for his incredibly selfless, little brother. Dean would probably never be able to express how relieved he felt, knowing that Cas had other friends; other people he could rely on, besides himself. Even though he knew he could never atone for what he had taken from Cas, Dean felt better knowing that he’d given something back, by bringing Cas into his own family. He was going to need John and Sammy. Because Dean knew he didn’t posses, within himself, everything it would take to make Cas whole.

If the universe were at all fair, Cas wouldn’t have been given a shit lot in life, and Dean blessed with a better family than he deserved. But the universe was a bitch and Cas was an orphan in his own home. The only thing that gave Dean hope for Cas, was knowing that he’d never be an orphan again. Cas had a father and a brother and friends now, whether he wanted them or not. Once the Winchesters decided you were family, that was that. Even if something happened to Dean, he would never have to worry that Cas wouldn’t be taken care of.

The only question left to answer was, where did that leave Dean himself?

The existential crisis he’d been holding at bay finally caught up with him. Dean would give anything to get back the certainty and clarity he’d had the night he took Cas. There had been so much confidence then. Nothing had felt more right in Dean’s whole life. And nothing had felt sweeter. But the next morning, all the doubt he’d managed to evade came rushing at Dean like a hurricane.

Dean refused to punish Cas for his uncertainty. He made a point to see and talk to Cas everyday after that. But a lot of things went unsaid. A gulf on tension grew between them with every day that passed, where they refused to acknowledge what happened. Sometimes, in their silent car rides, Dean could practically hear Cas’ thoughts. Could hear him internally screaming for Dean to say something, anything, about that night.

Dean knew he owed Cas an answer. But he couldn’t give answers he didn’t have. It wasn’t as if Dean hadn’t been giving the subject thought. In fact, it was pretty much all he could think about. Focusing on his work had been hard enough, back when a kiss was the only thing distracting Dean all day. But now! Now there were very graphic images and memories of sounds and sensations, plaguing his every waking thought. Everything was painfully vivid. Dean could still feel Cas’ fingers gripping at his back, could hear his ragged panting against his ear, still taste the salt on Cas’ skin. All sorts of steamy recollections, that were hardly conducive to changing an alternator.

But if Dean thought he could dismiss eighteen years of identifying himself a certain way, over one night of emotional volatility and physical indulgence, then this would hardly be an existential crisis. What did it say about Dean, that he was suddenly no longer attracted to women? And what did it say about him, if he was also uninterested in men? His experience with Cas was the only thing that aroused him anymore. Obviously that was significant. Right? It meant that there must be something about Cas that was different. Didn’t it?

Until he had a handle on it, Dean didn’t want to talk about this stuff with Cas. Wasn’t that fair? But on the other hand, knowing how Cas felt about all of this would make it a lot easier for Dean to understand. However, it wasn’t Cas’ responsibility to sort out Dean’s sexuality. Even if Cas was responsible for causing Dean to question himself, in the first place.

“Son of a bitch!”

Dean slammed the hood of the Impala and aggressively rubbed his grease streaked face. Whatever it was he needed to figure out, he had to figure it out soon. Before he lost his mind.

…

Cas had his things packed for weeks. He’d even been bringing things to work with him in his backpack, and putting them up in the loft when he got off his shift. He was trying to keep his move on the down low. His father became irate at any mention of Cas’ emanate departure. Cas couldn’t imagine why. He thought his father would have been glad to be rid of him.

It was actually kind of sad, how little there was to move. Cas had a few boxes of books and music albums, one box of Jimmy’s things he wanted to hold onto, a trash bag contained his entire wardrobe, and all of his personal items fit in his backpack. Cas didn’t mind though. He was ready to start a new life with a clean slate. He didn’t need to bring a lot of things from his old life with him.

Cas didn’t have nice things, and that didn’t bother him either. Because everything Cas owned was either passed on to him from someone he cared about, or was something he’d worked for and gotten himself. He decided he wouldn’t even bring his old bedroom furniture with him, when he moved. Cas found a beat up chest of drawers and an old wrought iron bed frame at the thrift store for forty bucks. He didn’t have a mattress for his bed frame yet, but he could save up for one and buy it later. He’d rather sleep on the floor than on a bed of bad memories.

The night of March 15th Cas went out to the cemetery alone. It was pretty late when he arrived. He propped his bike against the nearby maple tree, and went to sit with Jimmy.

The pot of dirt he’d brought last fall was still there. Cas smiled. The pot was from a science fair at an elementary school in Arizona, where Cas and Jimmy came in second place. Jimmy had made this incredible presentation about splicing tomato and pepper plants. However, there was nothing in the pot but dirt. The promise of fruits that would never come. A perfect little con, befitting of Jimmy’s misguided genius.

Jimmy was so proud of that red, second place ribbon. Cas kept the pot. Jimmy never understood why. Somehow Cas had convinced himself that there really was a tomato pepper in that pot, and that someday it would bloom. Well, he knew there really wasn’t anything in there but dirt…but he hopped. He hopped one day he would wake up and there would be a little shoot popping up from the soil. Proof that miracles do happen. Proof that something could be made from nothing.

So Cas watered that pot of dirt every day, and sat it in the window seal for a few hours. Of course, nothing ever grew. Cas remembered a day when he was so sick he’d been unable to lift his head off his pillow. Jimmy had gone to school without him and Cas slept the day away. Late that afternoon, Cas finally woke. Jimmy was there, by the window, with his back to Cas. He must not have known that his twin was awake, because he didn’t acknowledge him. Though Cas’ vision was blurred with fever, he could just make out what Jimmy was doing. He was watering that pot of dirt.

Jimmy never knew why taking care of that pot of dirt had been so important to Cas. And Cas never told him. But it didn’t matter. It only mattered that it was important to Cas. So it was important to Jimmy too. From that day, Cas knew that he would always be able to count on his brother.

Cas wished he’d been right.

“I see that you’ve been taking care of the tomato pepper.” Cas said to Jimmy’s headstone. “Thank you.”

The coming summer would be two years since Jimmy’s death. In all that time, Cas hadn’t said one word to his brother. Why should he? Cas didn’t really believe Jimmy would hear him. Just like he didn’t really believe there was some hybrid vegetable in that pot of dirt.

But Dean Winchester talked to Jimmy. Dean Winchester believed.

Maybe it was time Cas believed too.

“You know,” Cas begun. “At first I was…so angry with you. I tried not to be but…I thought you’d abandoned me. I was also angry because…” Cas took a shuttering breath, holding back whatever it was that tried to slip out. “Because, it wasn’t supposed to be you. It wasn’t supposed to be you Jimmy, it was supposed to be me.”

There was a time when Cas would close his eyes to escape the horrors of his father’s sickness. But after that fateful night, Cas couldn’t close his eyes without seeing that car flip a hundred times. It was better to stare into Zachariah’s hateful, bloodshot eyes, than to watch Jimmy die over and over. Of course, he hadn’t known it was Jimmy, in that car. Not while he was standing in the middle of that road looking at the carnage he’d caused. Not when he heard the train coming and hysterically scrambled to salvage something from the chaos. Not when he’d gripped Dean Winchester tight and pulled him from the shredded wreck of the inverted Impala. Not when the sounds of sirens and the fear had overwhelmed him. Not when he ran away.

It wasn’t until much later that he’d found out Jimmy had been in that car.

“It took me a while to admit my…my fault in this. And by then the price had already been paid.” Cas averted his eyes to the ground. A heavy debt of shame on his face. “I just wanted you to understand that…I know it wasn’t you who failed me. I can’t undo what’s been done. But maybe I can do the right thing from now on?” He didn’t seem so sure that this was the right answer. And there was no confirmation from Jimmy.

Cas’ wristwatch began to beep. It was midnight. He stood up with a grunt, and patted his brother’s headstone awkwardly.

“Happy Birthday, Jimmy.” He said.

…

Zachariah was sitting on the stairs in the dark. Cas didn’t notice him until he flipped on the lights. There was something in his hands. A red leather photo album. Cas wanted to go upstairs to his room, but he wasn’t about to ask his father to move. Cas weighed his options, trying to decided if it was worth it to ease past him or if he should just make busy in the kitchen for a while. Cas turned to go get himself a glass of water, when Zachariah’s voice shattered the silence like an atom bomb, and startled Cas. Not because it was loud. Because Cas could tell he’d been crying.

“I was so proud of you.” He said.

Cas froze.

“The day you and Jimmy were born. I was so proud.”

Cas didn’t turn to face his father. He couldn’t.

“You think I’m a monster.” Zachariah said. “You’ve always thought I was a monster. Your mother gave you that idea. You didn’t know it but she did.”

An uneasy feeling stirred deep in the pit of Castiel’s stomach. Slowly he turned to face his father, who was leafing through the photo album he’d been holding. Cas thought he’d burnt them all.

“You know I don’t even remember what she looks like anymore?” Zachariah continued. “I hated her so much. I thought I would never forget her face. Even after I got rid of all of her pictures, I thought I’d never forget.” He held out his hand to Cas, but Cas didn’t move. Zachariah let his hand stroke the air and Cas could tell that he meant to seem as if he were caressing Cas’ cheek. Cas shuddered. “I kept seeing her in your faces. I thought I would never forget what she looked like...but, uh…I did. Eventually, I did." Zachariah nodded.

Cas gathered every ounce of courage he had to square his shoulders and clear his throat. “I need to go to bed.” Cas said. “I have an important day tomorrow."

Zachariah was unresponsive. He just stared blankly into the photo album in his hands.

“Father.” Cas said, more sternly. “You should let me pass.”

Zachariah looked up at him then. Cas couldn’t read the expression on his face. It was just a void. After a while, he nodded and stood up, allowing Cas to climb the stairs to his bedroom.

Cas didn’t sleep all night. He expected Zachariah to come into his room.

One more night. One last night.

Zachariah never came. And the next morning he was no where to be seen. It wasn’t until Sam and John showed up to help him load his stuff into John’s pickup, that Cas found the photo album. His father must have shoved it into Cas‘ backpack, sometime in the night. It had a piece of paper taped to it, on which was scrawled one word.

Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a HELLUVA week but I've somehow managed to squeeze in time for this chapter.
> 
> So I do apologize if it's not up to par with my usual... I do plan to do a little editing on this one.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it anyway.


	16. That's The Good Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello strangers! I'm back from hiatus!
> 
> I've been gone for a long time so...what does that mean?  
> It means I've had a long time to think about the direction of this story, and it means it may take me a bit to get onto the swing things again. So keep that in mind if you think that the story starts to feel different.
> 
> By all means, feedback is still welcome!
> 
> What's new? I'll be TRYING to update on Fridays now. I may not be as faithful as I used to be when I posted on Sundays. My new work schedule is murder! Just remember that I will absolutely, eventually finish this story ;)
> 
> CHAPTERS SPOILERS! (kinda) This chapter is mostly fluff and smut. So hopefully I didn't do anything to butcher the story line yet. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The glow of eighteen candles flickered on Cas’ face. An unfamiliar smile, tugged at his lips.

If there had ever been a more perfect day in the history of Castiel’s life, he couldn’t remember it. The Roadhouse was decked out in streamers and balloons. Sam had kept Cas busy with unpacking upstairs, while Jo and Ellen had set up downstairs. Cheap party favors littered the bar where Cas now sat, in front of his cake; while the Winchesters, the Roadhouse gang and Bobby Singer butchered Happy Birthday. When they finished the song, Cas took a huge breath and blew out the candles. Sam just had time to remind him to make a wish.

But Cas couldn’t think of a single thing he could possibly wish for, on a day like today. Looking around the bar he felt a little overwhelmed. He didn’t know what to do with all the attention. Ash snapping pictures, Sam shoving gifts into his hands. All of these people had come together; and for what? All of this, just for him?

There were more people in this room who cared about Cas, than he’d had his whole life. How does one come to terms with a thing like that? Cas didn’t know.

Castiel was eighteen years old and this was his first birthday party. When he was a kid, his mom used to take him and Jimmy to whatever pizza and game emporium was available, in whichever town they lived, at the time. Their family never stayed still long enough for Jimmy and Cas to make enough friends to warrant throwing a party. There was no cake. No presents. Just greasy pizza, arcade games, and a dirty ball pit. Cas never thought he was missing out on anything. He didn’t know any better.

He didn’t know how amazing it would feel to be surrounded by friends, whose smiles and laughter were simply in celebration him. He had no idea how touching it could be to receive a gift. The kind of gift that lets you know someone has taken the time to consider your needs. Your desires. The kind of gift that, only someone who really knows you, could give. Like the mattress Ellen bought him for his bed frame, when she found out he planned to sleep on the floor. Or the new pair of sneakers from John. Even something as simple as the fuse Jo ordered, to fix the jukebox.

“Okay, okay, now open the one from me and Dean.” Sam could hardly contain his enthusiasm as he thrust a thin box into Cas’ hands. It was simple, white, no wrapping paper, only a ribbon. Cas would be lying if he said he hadn’t been anticipating this gift the most. Of course, he was grateful to Sam; but it was the thought that Dean had a hand in picking something out to give him, that excited him most.

Cas daftly unraveled the bow and dropped the ribbon on the bar. He relished the second before he ripped away the lid of the box; the last moment before he discovered what was inside.

Cas’ face briefly contorted with confusion.

Inside there were two books. One was a Steck-Vaughn GED study guide with “Cas” written in sharpie on the cover. The other was GED For Dummies and it had “Dean” written on it.

“I know things didn’t work out for you to finish high school.” Sam explained. “Same goes for Dean. But I don’t see any reason why that should stop the two of you from planning for the future. Obviously it’s up to you but…if you want to do this, I’d be happy to coach you. Both of you.”

Cas looked from Sam’s hopeful face to Dean, who cocked his head and spread his hands. “What do you say? I’m in if you are.”

Jimmy’s passing happened just at the end of Cas’ Junior year in high school. Needless to say, Cas hadn’t finished out that year. That summer when he got the letter saying he’d failed eleventh grade (due to his cumulatively poor grades and missing the finals) what was left of his will to graduate was sapped from him. He’d planned to get a job after dropping out, and start saving to get away from home as soon as he was legal. But his father always found a means of standing in the way of Castiel’s escape.

“Who are you kidding?” Cas could hear Zachariah’s disparaging tone perfectly in his memories. “You’ll never leave this house, boy. You’ve got no place to go.” Now Cas understood that those were the words of a miserable old man, who had pushed everything good out of his life; and now, faced with the emanate threat of isolation, would do anything to not go down alone.

The idea of finishing his education, going to college, pursuing a career, those were completely foreign concepts to Cas. A few months ago, he hadn’t even thought it would ever be possible for him to ever get out from under his father’s thumb. Now he had a job and a place to live and a real family. He would have been content to bus tables at the roadhouse for the rest of his life.

But what his new friends had come to show him was that, he didn’t have to be content. He didn’t have to settle. No more taking shit from his father, from bullies, from people who thought Cas was weak. He wasn’t weak. He was a survivor.

Was.

Not anymore. He wasn’t going to just survive any longer. Cas was going to live.

“Thank you Sam.” Cas said. “I would be honored for you to be my tutor.”

“Awesome! Cas, dude I swear you won’t regret this.” Sam blubbered. “You too Dean. I’ll make this fun for you guys, you’ll see!”

“Alright, alright, we get it.” Ash interjected. “Now scootch together and lets get one of the future scholars of America.” He directed, brandishing the camera he’s been candidly snapping with all night.

Sam grabbed Cas and Dean, each by an arm, and pulled them in for a picture. He couldn’t have looked happier, wedged between the two older boys, arms draped casually over their shoulders.

Something tugged as Cas’ chest, seeing Sam’s face light up. There was something genuinely good in that boy. He was so eager to give and give. Dean had been the object of Cas’ fascination for so long, that he often forgot he had a friend in Sam as well. Cas remembered sitting at the Winchester’s house last December and watching Sam and Dean goof off. He remembered wondering what it must be like, to be part of something like that. What could friendship and brotherhood possibly feel like? To have what Sam and Dean had. What Dean and Jimmy had.

And now he knew. It felt like coming home.

…

 

Cas still had no idea why his father had given him the photo album.

Most of the pictures in it were damaged. Anna’s face has been scribbled, scratched and burned out of a lot of them. Where had these pictures even come from? Cas was certain his fathered had destroyed them all, years ago. Looking through that album, Cas noticed for the first time that, he too could not remember his mother’s face. There were still some good pictures of him and Jimmy though.

The pair of them on a playground in Austin Texas. Eating watermelon on the front porch of their rental house in Richmond Virginia. The day they learned to ride bikes in Canton Ohio. Jimmy holding a red, second place, science fair ribbon in Scottsdale Arizona. There was even one of Cas burying Jimmy to the neck in sand, on a beach in Biloxi Mississippi. That was the first and only time Cas had ever seen the ocean.

Then Cas found a picture he’d never seen before, and it struck him.

It was Cas-just Cas-sitting alone on the steps of a house he didn’t recognize, in a town he couldn’t remember. Cas didn’t even remember owning the clothes he was wearing in the photo. He couldn’t remember what was significant about the day this picture was taken. He looked to be about eight or so, dressed in baggy jeans and a batman t-shirt that was a size too large.

What struck Cas about the picture was how sad he looked. The picture aroused so many questions in Cas’ mind. Why had he been so sad? Who had taken the picture, and why? What had happened? And why had someone felt the need to document Cas’ melancholy? Cas took the picture out of the album and flipped it over. Nothing was written on the back. Not a place, or date, or even his name.

Cas stared at the picture for what felt like hours. He would occasionally turn the photo over and examine the back again, to see if any new information had appeared. He kept thinking he should just put the picture away and finish unpacking his things, but it was like he was possessed. He couldn’t recall a single thing about this moment in his life that had been captured on film, and it was haunting him.

He was only able to set it aside, when the silence was interrupted by the sound of knocking.

Cas looked up from where he sat on his new bed, and saw Dean propped against the frame of his door. He was holding a brown paper sack.

“Oh, Hello Dean. I didn’t know anyone was still here.” Cas looked at the clock that hung on the wall, above his kitchen sink. It was a little after two.

  
“It’s just me.” Dean said. “I stayed to shoot some pool with Ash, ended up helping Ellen clean up after closing. I told her I wanted to make sure you were settled in.” Dean shrugged awkwardly. “She told me to lock up when I leave. Said you’d have keys.”

“I do.” Cas confirmed. “But, as you can see, I’m pretty much unpacked already.”

“Well…” Dean swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably. “I kind of figured that, actually.”

Cas couldn’t deny that Dean had gone to great lengths to keep things normal between them. He was expending noticeable effort to ensure Cas that he wasn’t being ignored. But despite his best efforts, things had become awkward. They never made eye contact for long, and their conversations were overly polite. Dean had familiar way of speaking to people he liked; it was almost rude. But whatever comfort zone Dean once had with Cas was painfully absent.

Cas wanted it back. He just had no way of knowing how to re-attain such an intangible thing.

“What’s that you’re looking at?” Dean kicked off from the door and made his way over to Cas.

“Those are just some pictures of me and Jimmy, from when we were kids.”

“Oh.” Dean said, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his jeans.

Cas waited for Dean to explain why he was there. When he didn’t, Cas let his bewildered gaze drop to the brown bag in Dean’s hand. Dean followed his line of sight and then seemed to suddenly remember that he’d been holding it.

“Oh yeah!” Dean announced, holding out the bag to Cas. “I know we said the whole GED thing was from me and Sam, but really that was all Sam’s idea. I just…” Dean trailed off and shrugged. “Anyway I got you something else.”

 

It was a Polaroid camera.

“That picture you gave me,” Dean said. “Of me and Jimmy at the creek…I always regretted that I we never took more.” There was a trace of real regret in his voice. Not misplaced guilt. Just real longing. “I guess you don’t really think about things like that until...until you start thinking about it.” Cas watched Dean’s gaze grow distant, as he seemed transported into some memory unknown. Cas was almost startled by Dean’s sudden chortle of laughter.

“You know, the last night me and Jimmy were together, that was almost a perfect night. I’d give anything to have a picture of us, sitting on the hood of the car. Couple of fools. I know that must sound strange, especially since…the way things turned out…” Dean shook his head instead of finishing. “Anyway, I just wanted you to be able to capture some of the good stuff. When things get bad, it’s nice to have something that can remind you it wasn’t always like that.”

“Thank you.” Cas said. He hoped Dean couldn’t see the way his hands trembled as he held the camera. “This was an incredibly thoughtful gift.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah well, you deserved better than for me to tack my name onto something Sam came up with. I owe you more than that.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Dean.” Cas could feel that this was about more than just a birthday present.

“Actually, yeah I do.” Dean nodded vehemently. “I owe you an apology.”

That was the last thing Dean Winchester owed Castiel Novak. At least that’s how Cas felt. There were so many things Cas hoped he would, one day, have the courage to say he was sorry for. Things he couldn’t say now. In the mean time, Cas’ conscious could hardly handle Dean’s constant apologizing.

“Trust me,” Cas affirmed. “You don’t.”

“Listen, Cas...” Dean shuffled forward and sat down on the bed, right next to Cas. Very close, but not touching. “I should have been man enough to talk to you. I told you we were friends; that you could count on me. And then I turn right around and bail on you. I know it might not have seemed like I did, but I did. I shouldn’t have used you like that.”

Cas’ couldn’t rightly divide how much of Dean’s guilt was warranted. But he felt the responsibility of easing it. Cas set aside the camera and reached over to tentatively place a hand on Dean’s. “Dean, you didn’t use me.”

“Yes I did!” Cas felt his heart drop a little when Dean snatched his hand away. “I was thinking about me, not you. I was lonely and fucked up and I knew it meant more to you, but I did it anyway. It shouldn’t have happened like that.” Dean snapped.

It shouldn’t have happened. Cas couldn’t understand why it stung so much, to realize that this was how Dean actually felt, about being with him. This is how he’d felt the whole time. Like it had been a mistake. Why was Cas surprised? Hadn’t he told himself not to have expectations of Dean? Suddenly, he felt very foolish. When had he let himself start believing that he and Dean would ever be more than friends?

“I should have waited until I knew.” Dean said, as an afterthought.

Huh?

Cas was confused. “Waited until you knew what, exactly?”

“You know, whether or not I could put in what I was getting out.”

Cas was lost.

Dean could obviously see the disconnect and he huffed in frustration, scanning his hand through his hair. “Damnit, Cas! I’m not good at this shit. Can’t you just read between the lines? I’m trying to do this right, but you gotta meet me in the middle here.”

Cas desperately wished he could. He felt like he was on the precipice of something pivotal, and had no idea how to seize it. Whatever it was Dean was trying not to say, Cas needed him to just say it. Because if Dean wanted Cas to guess what he was thinking…

“You regret being with me?” Cas proposed the only thing that had occurred to him.

“What? No!” Dean seemed genuinely mystified as to how Cas could have come to that conclusion.

“You just said a moment ago that it should never have happened.”

“I- That-” Dean’s face flushed and he stammered over his words. “Because I assumed it was, you know…your first time.”

“Oh.”

There was a silence that followed, pregnant with implication. And a little hope. Both of them wordlessly scrambled for something to say, and it was Cas who succeeded first.

“So, when you talk about putting in what you’re getting out…” Cas left the sentence to hang unfinished, like a question.

“I’m talking about me being able to give you what you need.” Dean answered.

“And?”

“And??”

“Can you?”

“I don’t know.” Cas watched as Dean hung his head and wrung his hands between his knees. “I want to. I mean, I know what I can give you, and it’s yours if you want it, but I don’t know if it’s enough. I do know this much…It’s a hell of a lot less than you deserve.”

This wasn’t right. As much as he wanted to, how could Cas accept Dean, when he was only offering himself up as a consolation prize. Sorry your life sucked Cas. Here! Have a self loathing lover. Dean was better than this. Dean deserved better than this. Cas couldn’t let him go on thinking he was the one undeserving. Dean had spent a great deal of his life, to this point, fighting. Fighting over petty remarks made about his friends, over jabs at his family, assaults on his little brother. Had he ever once fought for himself? When Cas had pleaded with Dean to pick his battles, he hadn’t meant for it to be this way. He hadn’t meant for Dean to give up.

So he took a risk.

“You don’t know the first thing about what I deserve.” Cas spat.

Dean seemed genuinely surprised by the darkness in Castiel’s voice. He didn’t know how to respond. Emboldened by Dean’s hesitation, Cas pushed onward.

“Do you even know what I saw in you? Why I wanted you? Do you think I’m attracted to your self pity? Because I’m not.” Cas was on his feet now, hovering over Dean, looking down on him. Spitting venom. He muscled past the hurt he saw spring up in Dean’s eyes. “Did you say things like that to my brother?”

“What?!” Dean’s fierce green eyes snapped up to meet Cas’.

“Did you ever tell him that he was welcome to your inadequate friendship?”

“The hell-”

“What about Sam? Do you ever tell your little brother that he deserves better than you?”

This was so unlike Cas. This was something Jimmy would do. Dean was blindsided. And hot. His jaw was set in a hard line. “Watch it, Cas.” He warned.

There was the fire that Cas had been trying to coax. To hell with this broken and defeated Dean. He’d rather have pissed off Dean. That was the Dean that Cas thought he deserved anyway.

“No. No I don’t expect you do.” Cas continued, despite Dean’s warning. “And why is that, Dean? Why is it that Sam and Jimmy could have the best of you and I can not? Is it because I’m not worth the trouble? Or is it, perhaps, because there wasn’t enough left to go around once you got to me? Everyone else gets a piece of the real Dean, and you give me the sad leftovers.”

That was the snapping point.

Dean stood up, right in Cas’ face, so quick and with such force that Cas staggered backwards. Dean caught him by the arm and drug him forward so that they were nose to nose. Cas’ eyes blew wide. Dean was trembling, probably with rage. It was frightening.

“This IS the real me, you DICK!” Dean shouted in his face.

There he is. Cas thought.

“No one, and I mean no one, has ever got to have this part of me!” Dean gritted though clenched teeth. “So I’m sorry if you think it’s sad, or pathetic, or not what you fantasized about. But this is me. Not good ’nough for you? Well that’s tough! This is what you get.”

There’s Dean Winchester.

 

…

 

Dean wasn’t sure when he’d realized, Cas’ quick pulse and heavy breathing were not fear related.

One minute he was starring into wide blue eyes -feeling like a monster and regretting every word- as Cas trembled like a leaf in his grip. And then suddenly, there was a shift in the atmosphere. Cas’ heavy lids narrowed sensually, and Dean found himself starring at the thick rim of black lashes, that cast shadows on Cas’ cheekbones. The warm breath passing between them made Dean feel light headed. Cas must have felt it too, because he seemed to lose equilibrium. He swayed into Dean. The light brush of Cas’ stomach against his, sent a hot volt of pleasure ripping through Dean’s gut. He solidified so instantaneously, it was almost painful. A groan tore from his lips, that was practically animal.

Cas made a sound too. A wincing sound; and Dean realized he’d clenched his fist tighter than he’d meant to, on Cas’ arm. Dean sobered and released Cas, retreating a step back. He could feel the bed come in contact with the back of his thighs. Cas followed, closing the gap between them, and Dean felt him go up on his toes for the half inch he would need to close the deal. Dean was practically ashamed of how easily he broke down. The lightest touch of Cas’ lips had him gripping at the younger boy’s hair, and panting into his mouth, as he opened Cas up with his tongue.

Cas was warm, and intoxicating, and Dean could feel himself on the verge of giving up to some very selfish urges. Then he felt Cas press into his erection, and it was like being jolted awake with a bucket of water to the face. He realized that they were about to cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Dean grabbed Cas by the hips and pushed them safely away from his hard on. Cas tried to fight him, to push back against him, but Dean held fast.

“Cas-”

Dean choked on whatever it was he was about to say. Cas had found a sensitive spot on Dean’s neck and was exploiting it with his mouth. Hot breath on his skin raised the hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck, and sent a prickle down his spine.

“Cas, stop.” Dean pleaded, half heartedly.

“Why?” Castiel moaned against his throat.

“Bec-” Warm fingers slithered over his bare chest, and Dean had to pull Cas’ wondering hand from beneath his shirt. “Cas! Stop for a second and listen to me!”

Cas stopped. And Dean instantly regretted ordering a cease fire. His whole body ached with a need that had been teased past a comfortable point. Cas looked just as frustrated as Dean felt. It was a sight. His face was flush with color, pale pink lips wet and swollen, chest gently heaving. And his eyes… Dean would never have thought eyes so blue could burn so hot. Dean had to close his eyes to block out the image.

“You don’t want this?” He heard Cas say.

Damn. Cas had no idea how bad Dean wanted this. But it couldn’t be like last time. Not where Dean slipped in like a thief, made out with Cas, and disappeared in the night; leaving nothing behind but a mess, like some fucked up wet dream. This time, they had to know it for what it was. Neither of them were getting out of this unscathed and Dean knew it.

“Dean?” He startled at the feel of Cas’ hand on his face. On reflex, he grabbed Cas by the wrist, green eyes popping open.

“I want it too much, Cas.” Dean finally answered him. He hooked his free hand around Cas’ waist and pulled him close. Let him feel the hardened length he’d tried to protect him from earlier. Dean placed his lips close to Cas’ ear and spoke softly, voice thick with lust. “I want it so bad that if you so much as touch me again, I’m going to fuck you.” Dean warned him. He couldn’t really afford to think about the fact that Cas suddenly looked tempted to test him. “I need you to understand something Cas. This is it for me. If we do this, there’s no going back. And I wish I could tell you it’s going to be a fairy tale, but it probably won’t. It’s gunna be hard and ugly, because that’s how my life is sometimes.”

“I know, Dean.” Cas nodded acquiescently.

“And my dad, and Sammy… they can’t know. Not for a long time.” Dean knew that was probably going to hurt Cas. Over time, Cas might even resent him for it. That’s why he had to know what he was signing up for now. “It’s not because I’m ashamed or anything.” Dean clarified. “I just-”

“Dean. I know.” Cas assured him. “They wouldn’t understand right now.”

“Yeah.” Dean said. “I’m sorry.”

Cas’ eyes darkened. He grabbed a fist full of Dean’s shirt and hissed in ear. “Could you possibly stop saying that?”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. That was hot.

Cas smiled. A completely new smile, Dean had never seen on him before. And then he ruthlessly shoved Dean backwards, sending him sprawling onto Cas’ bed. Dean’s face split in one of his trademark, Cheshire grins.

“Okay.” Dean said with a smirk, more to himself than anything.

Dean couldn’t deny how incredibly sexy it was, to watch Cas reach behind his head and pull off his shirt, while simultaneously climbing onto the bed to straddle Dean’s lap. Dean devoured Cas with his eyes. He was really able to appreciate Cas’ body, in a way that hadn’t been possible in the dark, that first night. Dean had always imagined Cas was scrawny, beneath his ill fitting clothes. That was hardly the case. Sure, Cas was noticeably leaner than Dean. But his chest and stomach were still defined with an unexpected strength. Dean slid his hands over the firm expanse and felt sinew jump beneath his touch. Dean found himself drawn to the sharp curve of Cas’ hip bones. He grabbed them. Explored them with his thumbs.

“Take off your shirt.” Cas commanded.

Dean was surprised by this seemingly sudden change in Cas, but he didn’t hesitate to comply. Where had this ‘take charge’ attitude come from? The way Cas was looking down at him now! This Castiel didn’t remind Dean of the timid boy he’d come to see, in his mind. He looked powerful. Beautiful. Full of purpose. Dean felt his chest swell, and realized how badly he’d wanted this for Cas, all along. For him to finally break free from the oppressive life he’d lived, and take back whatever it was his father had suppressed in him so long ago. Dean couldn’t hope to know what had inspired such a change, but oddly, it made him proud.

Then every coherent thought was lost, when Cas rolled his hips against the strain in Dean’s pants. Dean was painfully hard. The delicious pressure Cas supplied was almost torture. Dean felt a searing hand rake his chest. Cas’ hand continued down, slid over Dean’s stomach, stroked the fine hair that trailed beneath his navel and finally clutched into a fist, over the waistband of his jeans. Dean bit his lip to keep from crying out.

“Are you in pain?” Cas asked, in a tone that suggested he was only mildly concerned with the answer.

Dean nodded, bucking his hips up into Cas, seeking some sort of relief. Cas responded by teasingly rubbing his thumb over the head of Dean’s cock, through his jeans. Dean growled at him. He came up on his elbows to see what Cas was doing to him. Cas replied with a soft laugh and popped the button on his pants.

“Tease.” Dean accused.

Cas just thrust him back against the mattress, licked his lips and thumbed for Dean’s zipper.

Dean could hear Cas unzipping his fly, but he didn’t see it, because his eyes were locked on Cas’ face. He wanted to study all of these strange new expressions he was seeing on Cas for the first time. The spark of curiosity in his eyes, the sly pull of a mischievous smile on the corner of his lips, the confident, if unfamiliar, set of his jaw. Dean felt like he was watching Cas transform right in front of him, and he was more than happy to assist with the metamorphosis.

Dean just caught the way Cas’ eyes went wide, and the subtle bite he gave his lower lip, before his aching cock was enveloped in warm fingers. Dean jolted at the touch. Cas liked that. And Dean liked the way it felt to be sheathed in Cas’ hand. One firm stroke, from the base of his shaft already had Dean groaning and spilling precum. A few more strokes and both Dean and Cas’ hand were slick with it. It was slow and with purpose, the way Cas handled Dean. Like he was savoring something. Perhaps the way the older boy shuddered in his hand, or the way Dean’s freckled skin flushed with color.

Soon enough, Dean grew impatient. He wrapped Cas in his arms and rolled them, so that he was on top. Cas made a sensual noise, as Dean pushed his way between Cas’ thighs, found his wrists and pinned them to the bed. He watched Cas arch beneath him. With the tables turned he was just as needy as Dean had been. Fortunately Dean was kinder, and less patient than Cas had been. He quickly got Cas’ pants open and wrapped his calloused fist around him. Cas looked like he might scream when Dean started throttling him. His face was contorted in what was probably intense pleasure, but looked a lot like it could have been pain.

“Want me to stop?” Dean asked, to be sure. Cas shook his head vehemently, and clenched his eyes shut, squeezing tears from them.

This was so different from the last time Dean was with Cas. Last time it had been passionate and raw, but somehow sweet. And now they were practically animals. There was something very visceral about their desire this time. Dean couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was sure it had a lot to do with the fact that, this had been a long time coming. His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by Cas’ choked cry. Dean looked down just in time to see Cas’ cum erupt across his own abs and spill over Dean’s fist. Dean felt his cock twitch at the sight. His brows went up appreciatively.

“Good boy.” Dean purred in Cas’ ear, nipping encouragingly at his neck. Cas could only pant in reply, his heavy lids fluttering closed.

Cas looked a mess, and it was hot as hell! Dean sat back on his haunches admiring his handiwork. Cas’ dark disheveled hair, his flushed skin, heaving chest and wet stomach made for a more erotic scene than Dean could have cooked up in his best fantasies. If only Cas could see this! If only he could know how worth it he was.

Dean spotted the Polaroid camera, on the edge of the bed, and felt a wicked grin pull his lips. Cas’ eyes popped open at the sound of Dean snapping a picture. He looked up, horrified.

“What are you doing?” Cas demanded.

The camera ejected the undeveloped photo and Dean snatched it, gently fanning it in the air. “Capturing some of the good stuff.” He said, with a wink.  
“Give that to me.” Cas held out his hand insistently. Dean shrugged and handed him the camera. “The picture, Dean!”

“Picture’s mine.” Dean teased, slipping it into his back pocket.

“What if someone finds it?” Cas asked.

“They won’t. I’ll keep it safe. I promise.” Dean assured him, leaning over to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Do you trust me?”

Cas looked skeptical, but he nodded anyway. That felt good. To know that Cas trusted Dean, even though he wasn’t sure he should. Dean needed that. He needed someone to have faith in him. Not like his dad or his brother had faith in him. It was their job. Cas wasn’t obligated to trust Dean. He just did. Dean felt the weight of responsibility that came with that, and for once it was a weight he could bare. It was a comforting weight. A comfortable reminder that someone chose, of their own free will, to believe in him.

“Dean?” Cas’ husky voice shattered Dean’s train of thought.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

Dean felt his mouth go dry. What was Cas about to ask him to trust him with? And how could he say no, when Cas had just shown him good faith? Obviously, he couldn’t. So he also nodded, albeit nervously.

“Good.” Cas said. “Then lie down.”

Dean quirked a brow, but then shrugged and rolled off of Cas and onto his back. Cas was quick to mount him, pressing his lips into Dean’s neck, letting his hands explore his ribs. Dean tried not to squirm, but he was anxious to see what Cas would do, and still very much in need of some relief.

Cas’ mouth found it’s way down the line of Dean’s neck, and across his collar bone. Dean inhaled sharply when he felt Cas’ teeth graze his nipple. He held his breath when Cas’ lips trailed sticky kisses over his stomach and gasped when he felt the hot tongue dip into his navel. As obvious as it was that Cas was slowly migrating south, somehow it still took Dean by surprise when he felt the wet flick of Castiel’s tongue across his swollen prick.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean grunted through clenched teeth. His fists tangling in Cas’ blanket. Dean told himself that there was no way Cas was about to do what he thought Cas was about to do, all the way up until the point where Cas’ hot mouth engulfed the head of his dick. It took everything Dean had not to buck his hips up into that wet intoxicating warmth. With a trembling hand, Dean ran his fingers encouragingly through Cas’ dark, shaggy hair. Dean had to take deep breaths to maintain control. He found a rhythm between the languid bobbing of Castiel’s head and the vibrating thrum of his own pulse. Cas’ tongue curled tightly against the sensitive underside of Dean’s cock as he sucked. Dean found himself wondering how the hell Cas had learned to do this?

His curiosity was suddenly ripped from him, in a currant of electric pleasure. Dean felt the sharp bite of nails digging into his hips, and suddenly Cas’ mouth descend. He didn’t stop until his lips were pressed against the base of Dean’s shaft, and the plump head was buried somewhere in the impossibly tight depths of Cas’ throat. Dean came in seconds, cussing, arching his hips off the bed, and clutching at Cas’ hair.

…

Cas took a picture of Dean too. It was after he’d passed out. He was sprawled on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped across his muscular stomach. Dean obviously hadn’t shaved in a few days, and his chin was a bit scruffy. He looked very raw and satisfied. Castiel imagined he looked like a lion, taking a nap after a hunt. Dean, shifted when the camera flashed, but didn’t wake up. Cas smiled, watching him readjust.

Cas hid the picture of Dean, in his photo album. He put it behind the sad photo of his lost memory. He found he no longer cared to know the story behind the picture. It was time to start making new memories anyway.


	17. Your Sins Will Find You Out

“Murderer.”

Dean tried to pretend he hadn’t heard it. He stood in the checkout line at the auto parts store, just a few feet away from where the guys from his old high school were congregated around a display rack. He gave them a nasty glare, and they burst into muffled snickering.

They’re not worth it.

Jimmy had been dead for a long time, but not a day went by that Dean didn’t think about him. About what he’d done. He was fortunate enough to have found something that could fill the aching void his guilt and grief had left behind. But every now and again, if he was not careful, the anger would flare up. The anger would never go away. Long after everything else that Dean felt faded (love, hurt, regret, forgiveness) he would still feel the anger. He could hide it, most days. But probably not today.

Dean almost made it to the Impala without incident. Almost.

“Nice car, Winchester!” He heard one of the guys from the parts store say. “You fix it up yourself?”

Dean opened the back door of his car and dropped his bags on the back seat before turning to face Dirk McGregor with one of his trademark shit eating grins.

“Sure did. Why do you ask?” Dean already knew the answer to that. “You need a mechanic?” He knew he should just walk away, but all of the judgmental glares and the whispers behind his back were starting to get to him. Dean couldn’t go anywhere in Lawrence without being scrutinized. The grocery store, restaurants, gas stations; it didn’t matter where he went. There was always someone there who knew him. Someone who knew he’d killed Jimmy Novak. Usually he kept his head down and went on about his business. But he was tired of groveling. He was tired of scraping around on his belly for these people. He didn’t owe them an apology. Jimmy? Yes. Cas? Sure! His family? You bet. But these good for nothing, tongue wagers? He owed them nothing. He never had.

Dirk just shrugged, and smiled at his posse of straw dogs. “I was just telling the boys it looks good.” Dean watched his smile turn from mirthful to fiendish in seconds. “Almost didn’t recognize it… you know, without that poor Novak kid smeared all over the front seat.”

 

Dean set his jaw. “You keep his name out of your filthy mouth.” He felt his fingernails bite into his own clenched fists.

Dirk raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t know why you’re getting so mad at me? I’m not the one who turned him into human spaghetti.”

“Yeah, fuck you!” Dean snapped. “Fuck all of you! You want to point your noses down at me now that he’s dead, but where the hell were any of you when he was alive? I know where I was. I was right next him. I was his friend."

“Yeah well…with friends like you Winchester, who needs enemies.” Dirk sneered.

Dean rounded the Impala so quick Dirk didn’t have time to react. He sent Dirk sprawling in the parking lot, with a vicious right hook to the jaw. Dean felt something crack and he wasn’t sure if it was attached to him or McGregor. “He had plenty of enemies!” Dean yelled down at McGregor, his fists trembling. “I was the only thing that stood between Jimmy and his enemies. Not you, or his dad or anyone else in this God forsaken town. So you can all stop acting so fucking self righteous."

Dean watched Dirk spit out a few bloody teeth before he turned on his heals and stalked off towards his car.

“You got it all wrong Winchester!” Dirk called after him. “Jimmy didn’t have enemies. You did! You know, people would have liked Jimmy if you two weren’t a package deal. You think you were protecting him?” Dean could hear Dirk’s hateful laughter. “Nah. He was protecting you. He protected you from getting your ass beat every day just by being your friend. You think that people left the two of you alone because they were scared of you? They left you alone because Jimmy was a nice guy and you were his friend.”

Liar. He’s just a liar.

“You weren’t standing between Jimmy and his enemies, Winchester.” Dirk was practically hysterical now. “The only thing you were keeping him from, was a chance to have real friends.”

Dean slammed the door of the Impala and cranked her up, drowning out whatever poison continued to spew out of Dirk’s mouth. McGregor was still yelling and gesturing wildly as Dean tore out of the parking lot. Dean punched the gas and made the Impala roar. He blared the radio. But nothing was loud or distracting enough to scrub Dirk’s words out of his head.

Dean hadn’t even noticed where he was until a cop was pulling him over.

The railroad crossing.

…

“You were going 80 in a 45, son. Yeah, I think that’s cause for concern.” John Winchester was not pleased. Dean couldn’t blame him. “You’re lucky you weren’t…” Dean could see how his father swallowed the rest of his sentence before deciding to change direction. “You’re lucky.” He said again, softer this time.

“I’m sorry Dad.” Dean said, and he meant it.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” John asked.

“I had some words with a guy from high school at the parts store.” Dean shrugged.

“Words?” John raised his brows and looked pointedly at Dean’s bruised knuckles, which didn’t hurt until that exact moment.

“I might have also punched him.”

“Dean!” John scolded.

“I know, I know.” Dean waved off the impending lecture. “Please, Dad. I know, okay?”

John sank down wearily in his chair and rubbed his face in his hands. Dean knew that look. He rarely got to glimpse the enormous weight that his father carried around. But when he did, he felt the guilt of having been a part of creating it.

“I just… I wish I could carry this for you, you know?” John said, helplessly.

Dean almost smiled, because ironically he wished he could carry his father’s pain for him. Sammy was the same way. None of them liked to see the others suffer. Any one of them would take it all on to spare the others. That’s how their tragically little fucked up family worked. It was a vicious cycle of love and guilt that caused them all to hurt more than their fair share.

“I know you do, Dad.” Dean sat down on the couch across from John. “But you don’t have to because I’ve got it. Today was a set back but… I…I’m getting better. I know you can’t see it right now but I’m telling the you-”

“I do see it, son.” John interjected. “I see you getting better and I hope beyond hope that whatever happiness you’ve found ends up sticking. I just…” Maybe John’s voice cracked, Dean couldn’t be sure. “Some days it’s like what happened with your Mom all over again. I feel like…like you’re burning right in front of me and I can’t help you. I can’t save you.”

They never talked about the fire. Somehow it always seemed too heavy. There was almost a feeling of release hearing John say something-anything-about it. Sometimes Dean imagined that the fire was some crazy dream he’d had as a child. A hallucination. It was good to hear his Dad confirm that it actually happened. It usually made Dean feel a little less crazy. However, Dean hated that he’d brought it up now. Like this. Because Dean knew that feeling. The feeling of helplessly trying to salvage a lost cause. And he didn't want to. He didn't want that for John either.

“It’s not your job to save me, Dad.” Dean tried to sooth his father; echoing words he'd heard that man say to him countless times before. John made a sound between a scoff and a laugh.

“Actually…that’s precisely what my job is.” He said.

And then he started to laugh. It started off low and good humored but then started to spiral out of control. John laughed until tears were running down his cheeks. Dean was completely dumbfounded, and yet for whatever reason he couldn't help laughing too.

…

“Are you taking this seriously, Dean?” Cas asked.

Dean looked up from where he was drawing tiny classic cars on the practice test Sam made for them.

“Absolutely.” He said.

“I’m fairly certain, you are not.” Cas was not much fun when it came time to study for the GED. He devoted himself to their tutoring sessions with Sam, in the same way he devoted himself to everything else. Even when Sam wasn't there to spur them on, Cas did whatever homework had been assigned religousely. “This is important to me Dean.”

“I know, Cas.” Dean gave a heavy sigh. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way. Or rather, he wanted to feel the same way. But much heavier things weighed on Dean.

Over the past few days, Dean found himself wondering if the things Dirk McGregor had said about him and Jimmy were true. Dean replayed every scenario in his head, where he thought he’d been looking out for Jimmy. And the closer he looked, the more he didn’t like what he saw. Every time Dean had snapped or gone off on someone, he remembered Jimmy standing the gap. Telling him to cool off, to take a walk. It’s not worth it. Their not worth it. Let’s go blow off some steam. Raise a little hell. Forget those guys. That was all Jimmy. How had Dean not noticed it before?

Cas nudged Dean’s foot beneath the small booth in his loft, where they had been attempting to study for the past hour.

“Something’s wrong.” He said. “What is it?”

Dean shrugged it off but Cas just waited, hands folded patiently on the table, expectant of a reply.

“I just wonder sometimes if Jimmy might still be alive if he never met me?” Dean blurted.

  
“Oh.” Cas didn’t seem prepared to hear that.

“Forget I said anything.” Dean shook his head, and went back to lining the little cars on his study guide.

Nothing but the sounds of shuffling paper and scratching pencils could be heard for a long while. Dean was actually startled when Cas finally said something.

“Jimmy didn’t die because of you.” Cas said, without looking up from his paper.

Dean starred at him for the longest time, waiting for further explanation. But none came.

“But…what if I alienated him? What if he could have had a different life if he weren’t my friend? One that ended sixty years from now in Florida!” Dean’s voice was edged with that same anger he felt at the auto parts store. Only this time he knew he was angry with himself.

Cas shook his head, even as Dean made his speculations. “It wasn’t your fault.” He repeated. Dean thought the way Cas said that insinuated that it was someone’s fault, just not Dean’s.

“Things could have been different Cas. I know they could have.” Dean persisted.

Though Dean wasn’t sure why, Cas had apparently had enough, because he slammed his fist down on the table, sending everything on its surface rattling. “The only thing that would be different, Dean, is that Jimmy would never have learned to stand up to our father! Which means he would still be beating and raping me every day of my life!” Cas’ voice boomed with an unexpected strength.

Dean’s mouth fell open in horror. He felt himself recoil from the realization. It knocked the breath out of him. Forgetting everything that had been wrenching his gut before, Dean felt his blood run cold. Cas had just admitted that his suspicions about Zachariah Novak had been correct. Zachariah was a child molester. Dean knew, somewhere deep down, that it must have been true all along. He just hadn’t wanted it to be. Dean wished he didn’t but he suddenly felt sick, recalling the way Cas had touched him. Knowing how Cas must have learned those things. It turned his stomach. It was too much! Too much to know, and too much to bear. Dean felt himself breaking under the weight of it.

Had Jimmy known? Surely not! Surely Jimmy would have told him. But how could Jimmy not have known? How could Jimmy not tell him something like that? Didn’t he know that all he had to do was come to Dean, and Dean would have ended it? Of course, Jimmy knew that. And he also knew better. He’d loved Dean too much to let him do a fool thing like ruin his life over their worthless alcoholic of a father. Because Jimmy knew that’s exactly what Dean would do. He’d have killed him.

Which was why Dean couldn’t do that now. He couldn’t make the same mistakes with Cas he made with Jimmy. Jimmy loved him, but he hadn’t trusted him to do the right thing. He hadn’t trusted Dean with all of his secrets. They were supposed to be brothers but Dean was on the outside of the most important parts of Jimmy’s life, and Dean never even realized it! He thought he was looking out for Jimmy. But he hadn’t been. Jimmy was always looking out for him, wasn’t he?

Dean could change. He had to change. He’d made a promise to Cas that he would look before he leapt. That he would weigh his actions. Dean couldn’t let Cas down. He couldn’t let Jimmy down, again. Dean could see the fear in Cas’ eyes, that he’d said too much. The instant regret. The longing to pull the words back into his mouth. But the truth was out, and Dean had to show Cas that he could handle it like the man he’d promised Cas he could be.

Dean reached for Cas’ hand, still clenched into a fist on the table between them. He felt the ghost of a tremor in the younger boy’s hand.

“That’s never going to happen to you again. You hear me?” Dean somehow managed to be both soothing and firm. There was no threat of rash behavior in Dean’s statement. Just the promise of protection. He watched Cas visibly relax. Saw the trust ease his earnest face. There was something he had in Cas that Dean didn’t have with anyone else. Not even Sam.

Faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know. I hope you all are still hanging in there. Thank you for your continued support and constructive criticism. Also, thank you for your long suffering patience with my erratic updating schedule and ridiculous abuse or punctuation!
> 
> I love you all!


	18. Bridge Over Troubled Water

Being a better man was a lot harder than Dean ever imagined. Every day he woke up with hatred burning in his stomach. And every day he had to look himself in the mirror, and remind himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t go right over to Zachariah’s house and burn it down with him inside. It was an active struggle to redirect all of that rage into productivity, but somehow he managed. Working on those old cars of Bobby’s had, in a sense, saved Dean’s life. Where he had been a source of destruction before, now he was a source of construction. Rebuilding cars taught Dean the value of something that was broken. It taught him the value of healing. By some miracle Dean Winchester was slowly but surely becoming the sort of man he thought his family deserved. Someone they could rely on to not loose his shit at the drop of a hat.

The most rewarding thing about it was that they were all starting to notice. Even Bobby found opportunity to comment about how Dean seemed to be “growing up” whatever that meant. No one guarded their speech around him anymore. There was no longer concern that one wrong word would trigger some irrational behavior, anger or depression or despondency. It felt good to be something other than a loose cannon. Dean never realized how little he’d contributed before. All that the anger and violence had ever caused was stress and doubt. Dean wasn’t the epicenter of those things anymore. For once their family could just worry about normal problems.

Like paying their bills. And getting Dean and Cas their GEDs. And teaching Cas how to drive a car. And figuring out how they were going to get Sam a scholarship to Stanford, because they sure as hell couldn’t afford to pay for him to go. Even Dean’s personal problems became more manageable. For the longest time his biggest concern became figuring out how to tell his Dad and Sam about him and Castiel. There was no rush on that. At least not from Cas. Dean constantly anticipated a bigger fuss over it, but it never came. Oddly enough, the first sign of turbulence between them came from a completely unexpected place.

“Hand me that drain pan.” Bobby Singer grunted. Only his legs were visible from beneath the ‘89 Firebird. Dean squatted on the ground next to the car and tossed him the pan.

“You been down there for a while.” Dean remarked. “Having some trouble?”

Brow rigid, Bobby shot Dean and indignant look. “I know how to change a damn oil filter.” He grumbled.

“Suit yourself.” Dean had long since learned to shrug off the old guy’s stubbornness. He stood up and propped against the rusting frame of a classic Aston Martin just across from where Bobby was working. For a while there was just the sound of Bobby grunting and the odd metallic thunk. Finally the bearded man emerged from the undercarriage of the car, his face streaked with grease.

“Whoa.” Dean’ brows shot up in surprise. “Did any of the oil make it into the pan, or is that all of it there on your face?”

“Cute.” Bobby pulled off his latex gloves and started blotting his face with a wad of paper towels. “How about you spend less time micromanaging me and more time worrying about preparing for school in the fall.”

Dean half rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I told Sammy I’d get my GED. I didn’t commit to going to college. Besides, if I went off to school who’d be here to annoy the piss out of you?”

Bobby wasn’t amused. “Dean Winchester, you’re going to college.” He said sternly.

“Bobby,” Dean splayed his hands out helplessly. “What am I going to do with a college degree? This is what I wanna do. I want to fix up old cars, live off of beer and greasy burgers until I die, old and fat with an awesome beard. Plenty of people live full and happy lives without getting a fancy degree. My dad is one of ‘em. You seem to be doin’ alright without one.”

“Your dad went to seminary.” Bobby barked. “And I have a college degree, you idjit!”

“Really?” Dean was legitimately surprised. “You? You have a degree? In what?”

“Watashi wa Nihon no baka o kenkyu!” Bobby let out a stream of flawless Japanese, but to Dean he might as well have been speaking Latin.

“The hell was that?” Dean looked as if he’d been slapped in the face.

“That was a little something I picked up from six years of international studies in Japan.”

“You speak Japanese? You’ve been to Japan?” Dean was utterly blown away. Fuckin’ Bobby Singer studied abroad and spoke a second language? “Who the hell are you?”

Bobby tossed the ball of greasy paper towels into the trash, with a shrug. “Dean, maybe you’re right. Maybe you don’t need a college education. Maybe you will be happy installing carburetors and growing a beer belly the rest of your life. Like you said, it’s worked out for me pretty well so far. But you gotta understand, I chose this. I didn’t settle for it because I thought I couldn’t do better.”

Dean was just about to say that he wouldn’t be settling. He was about to ask why everyone assumed that he wanted more than a quiet ordinary life? He was going to tell Bobby that he didn’t think going to some over priced university was going to change that. He would have said those things if he wasn’t so surprised by what Bobby said next.

“I guess I just thought, since you and Cas were so close that you’d be going to school with him in the fall.” Bobby shrugged.

“What are you talking about?”

“Cas is going to some art school on the west coast, come August. He didn’t mention it to you?” Bobby asked.

Dean felt like he’d been struck by lightening. That couldn’t be true. Could it? Cas wouldn’t have made plans to go off to school without telling Dean. Would he? And how did Bobby know? Who else knew? Was Dean the only person who hadn’t been told? Dean tried to imagine what reason Cas would have to not include him in his plans to move halfway across the country. He felt an unfamiliar knot forming in his throat and tried to swallow it down. In hit him in the stomach, sharp and painful.

“No.” Dean said, dryly. “He didn’t mention it.”

….

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, with a book and a glass of milk, when he heard the front door slam. He listened to Dean’s exasperated bout of huffing and grunting, as he scuffled out of his work boots and shrugged off his duffle. His brother was obviously in a foul mood.

“Bad day?” Sam called out?

Dean gave a dull grunt in reply, which could have been interpreted to mean anything really. A moment later he shuffled into the kitchen looking haggard. He barely gave Sam a second glance, bypassing him for the refrigerator.

“You get into it with Bobby, or something?” Sam inquired.

Dean's response was again nothing more than a grunt. Sam shrugged off his brother’s despondency, turning the page of his book. Whatever was bothering Dean would eventually come out, in the form of a rant or a hypothetical question or squeezed between a few choicely crafted curse words.

Something was on Dean’s mind. Sam knew him well enough to know Dean wanted to talk about. Because if he didn’t, Sam wouldn’t have known something was wrong. Or at least Dean would have made an attempt to keep him from noticing.

But Dean could be finicky little bitch at times. Which meant that Sam had to go through this whole routine to get something out of Dean. First he had to show interest. Then Dean would play it cool or act reluctant to talk. Then Sam would ignore him. Which would prompt more disgruntled behavior from Dean; sighing and huffing exaggeratedly or giving the silent treatment, coupled with dirty looks. Sam would eventually take the bait and ask “WHAT?” to which Dean would reply “NOTHING!” and once Dean was sufficiently satisfied that Sam was annoyed…then…THEN he would tell Sam what was wrong.

Sam hated it.

In fact, he had just resolved not to buy into it this time when Dean surprised him by jumping straight to the point.

“Did Cas tell you about his plans to go to school in California?” Dean asked, slamming the fridge and turning to face Sam, arms crossed over his chest.

Oh.

“He uh…might have mentioned he was interested in a photo journalism program at this school…we got brochures in the mail…”

“Of course he did.” Dean muttered under his breath.

Dean’s body language was venomous. His jaw was set, eyes cold. Angry and distant and more spiteful than Sam had seen him in years.

Obviously Dean was pissed that he wasn’t in the loop. Sam just couldn’t understand why. Dean might have had a history of being petty, but this wasn’t the sort of thing that usually ruffled his feathers. He hadn’t acted this way when Jimmy-his best friend-finally told him he’d been sitting on a scholarship for months.

Dean wasn’t acting as if he’d been left out. He was acting as if he’d been betrayed.

“Is there something I’m missing here?” Sam asked.

“You?” Dean snapped. “You’re missing something?”

Sam thought it was a legitimate question. “Dean, if you’re so upset he didn’t tell you, why don’t you just ask him about it?”

Dean looked as if he genuinely hadn’t considered that.

“Yeah.” He said, much calmer than before. “Okay.” And without another word he walked out of the kitchen. A few moments later Sam heard Dean walk out the front door.

“What the hell?” Sam mumbled to the empty kitchen.

….

Dean never noticed how often Cas used the camera he’d given him for his birthday. The walls of the loft were slowly taken over by a collage of Polaroids and pictures ripped from magazines and travel guides. Dean could clearly see how Cas had grouped the images. Next to the professional pictures from the magazines, Cas had collected his own photographs, each mimicking some element of the inspiration photo. Lighting, focus, contrast, exposure; it was amazing what Cas could do with a basic camera. Somehow Cas had developed this love of photography right under Dean’s nose. And furthermore, he was good at it. There were picture of everything from local landmarks and scenery to homeless strangers and stray dogs. Everyone Cas knew was there. Dean, Sam, Ellen, Bobby, everyone. Each person captured just as they were, through Cas’ eyes.

Dean had come to the Roadhouse with the intention of confronting Cas about holding out on him. He’d gone to the loft to wait until Cas’ shift ended. But now, standing in audience of Cas’ body of work, Dean felt like it was obvious Cas would go to school to pursue his passion. He felt like a fool. How could he think Cas was hiding this from him? It had been glaring him in the face this whole time. Dean felt guilty he hadn’t noticed before. Of course! Of course, Cas was going to art school. What else could he possibly do? Work at the Roadhouse bussing tables the rest of his life? How could Dean not want better than that for Cas?

“Do you have a favorite?” Cas' voice startled him.

Dean hadn’t noticed him come in. He turned to see Cas standing a few feet behind him, wearing one of those charming and curious smiles that made him seem a little lost and a little wise. There was just a glimmer of pride in his eyes for having caught Dean admiring his creations. It was obvious how much it meant to Cas that Dean had taken notice. How long had Cas been waiting for Dean to see? To take interest? Dean felt ashamed.

“Yeah.” Dean said with a humble smile. “This one.” He touched his finger to the white edge of the Polaroid that first drew his eye to the collage. It was a close up shot of Jo. Her profile consumed most of the frame, her hair was edged in soft light and the background was just a blur of colors. She wasn’t smiling but Dean could just tell that she was happy. He couldn’t have said aloud what it was about the picture that gave him that notion. He just understood. Dean didn’t know shit about photography or what made it good, but he was certain that this was good. Better than good. Looking at that picture of Jo made him feel something.

“She was reading a letter.” Cas explained.

“Who from?” Dean wondered.

Cas only shrugged.

“So, which one’s your favorite?” Dean asked.

“Uh.” Cas’ face went a little pink at the question. “It’s not on the wall.”

Well that was interesting. Dean thought he might have an idea as to why Cas might not want it displayed. His mind went to the picture of Cas he kept hidden in a book in his closet.

“Let’s see it.” Dean prompted.

Cas was full on blushing by now. But he cleared his throat and nodded, gesturing for Dean to follow him over to the bed. In Cas’ nightstand was the photo album filled with the few surviving pictures from his and Jimmy’s childhood. He didn’t have to thumb through the pages, he knew where the picture was and the album fell right open to it.

It wasn’t what Dean expected.

The picture was of John Winchester. He was on one knee, in their driveway next to Cas’ bike, his hand pressed to the tire. Probably checking the air pressure. He didn’t seem to be aware he was having his picture taken. Dean saw nothing remarkable about the photo. It wasn’t a particularly dynamic or striking image. There was no special quality to any element Dean recognized in Cas’ other photos. In fact it was kind of blurry. The photo was just as ordinary as the moment captured in it.

It took a moment for Dean to realize that this was exactly why Cas treasured it.

Moments like these were not an ‘ordinary’ part of Cas’ life before the Winchesters. Unlike Sam and Dean, Cas didn’t have the luxury of a concerned father. He had never known the security that comes from being raised by a provider. Jimmy had been Cas’ care taker. Just Jimmy. And now he was gone. Dean couldn’t imagine what life would be like if he and Sam only had each other. If Sam only had Dean. That sort of life would be something out of a nightmare.

But that wasn’t Dean’s life. Because he had his Father. He had John Winchester.

How many times in Dean’s life had his father done something like in the photo, that had gone unnoticed? Hundreds? Thousands? John wasn’t a grand gesture kind of man. He never went all out for the boys birthdays or for Christmas. His gifts tended to be things that were needed, rather than things that were desired. Dean had never really had to think about the fact that, it was for this very reason he and Sammy had grown up knowing they would always have what they needed. Subconsciously their father had reinforced the knowledge that he would never let them go without. Never let them go unprotected. Dean thought about how many times he and Sam had exchanged knowing glances before opening gifts like, new school clothes or winter coats; then forcing grateful smiles.

The realization that Cas treasured something that Dean took for granted, made Dean feel ashamed. It wasn’t just that Cas deserved a father like John. It was that John deserved a son like Cas. Sure there was Sam. Sam was a good kid and all, but even he didn’t know how good he had it. Not the way Cas understood. Cas knew what they had, and even worse, he knew they undervalued it. Dean wondered how Cas didn’t look at him and see someone completely self centered. It was a miracle Cas didn’t despise him. Dean would have, in Cas’ shoes. Somehow Cas had been able to look past that. To not judge.

“You know…” Dean spoke softly, tracing a finger along the edge of the Polaroid. “I think this one is my favorite too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like I've been working on this fic a lifetime.
> 
> Until it's time for me to post a new chapter, I refrain from logging onto AO3. So if it took me more than a month to respond to your comments... that would be why.
> 
> Wow!!! 5200 hits! I honestly, truly can not believe it!
> 
> When I posted the first chapter of this fic, I was logging on every 30 minutes to see how many people had read it.
> 
> After the first hour I had 5 hits. After 24 hours I only 32 hits. I remember thinking, "WOW! 30 whole people read my fic!"
> 
> Not long after I got my first 'kudos' and boy was I proud! I thought that was it! I thought, "If no one else reads this damn story it doesn't matter, because that motherfucker right there liked it!"
> 
> Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would log on one day to see that my story had 5200 hits! 
> 
> So THANK YOU!!!
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this story through the emotional roller coaster of my writing moods, my erratic (annoyingly rare) posting schedule and excessive abuse of exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Thank you for your encouragement, your comments, your feedback, your fan art and for sharing this with your friends even though it's still incomplete. 
> 
> I promise you... If I don't finish this fic you may assume I am dead.
> 
> See you after Chapter 19...
> 
> All my love, Annie


	19. Dearly Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (5 Years Later)

Dean wasn’t sure of the exact moment when he’d figured it out. That it was Cas, that night at the railroad crossing. There was a saying Bobby liked to use here and again. “Time and distance have a way of revealing things we can’t see in the here and now.” Time and distance. There had been plenty of time, and more than enough distance, between Dean and Cas, over the years. Ever since Cas left. There were moments, in that time, when Dean could recall putting some of the pieces together. When he started remembering all of the times Cas had insisted that Jimmy’s death wasn’t Dean’s fault. When he got Cas’ letter from Bangkok where he’d said, “I left a lot of things unsaid.” When he figured out that it was Cas’ handprint on the sleeve of his shirt from that night. But never a definitive moment when it struck him. Dean figured he must have gradually come to realize the truth. And that was probably for the best.

It didn’t hurt as much as Dean thought it would have. Maybe because it never really got a chance to sink in. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the fact that Cas had never come clean to him about it that kept Dean awake at night. It was worrying that Cas was still carrying it around. The guilt and shame. Dean remembered what that was like. If he was honest, because he still did it himself sometimes. But only sometimes. He knew Cas had his own reasons for going away, but Dean couldn’t help but wonder if this was the real reason Cas had stayed away?

Dean wanted to tell Cas. That he knew. That is was okay, and he didn’t hate him. He just never could seem to find the right time. He only ever saw Cas once a year; at Thanksgiving. And their letters and phone calls grew less frequent over time. These days John talked to Cas more than Dean did. Dean almost told him last spring. He’d been in bed, nursing a six pack and watching Wheel of Fortune, when Cas randomly Skyped him from Mozambique. Cas’ had a job with National Geographic that took him to some amazing places. Every now and then he would treat Dean to a virtual tour of his newest exotic locale.

Cas looked good. He had a tan, and a little muscle on him. He talked a lot more than Dean remembered. Smiled a lot more too. He looked happy. Whether it was over a skype call or Thanksgiving dinner, Dean had precious few of these moments with Cas. He wanted to treasure them; not mar them by bringing up Jimmy’s death. But this time he could tell, right before Cas hung up, that there was something else he wanted to say. He didn’t, and Dean didn’t say it either. But the weight of it sat on his chest for days after they hung up. He composed countless letters, texts, and emails that week. None of which he sent. Dean finally determined that he was just going to tell Cass when he came home for Thanksgiving.

But God, or fate, or whatever had other plans.

Zachariah Novak died in October. Dean was sitting next to John when he called Cas to tell him. It was a short conversation. Cas didn’t ask about Dean or Sam. He didn’t ask how his father died. He just got the details for the funeral arrangements and told John he’d be on the first flight out. Dean thought Cas might call him after that, but he didn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about what was going through Cas’ mind right now. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Dean thought about when he’d lost his mother. This was nothing like that, but it was all he had to compare it to.

Dean waited up late next to his phone that night, periodically checking the screen to see if he had any messages. Every time he looked, and there was nothing there, a hole in his chest opened a little wider. This was ridiculous, right? What did he expect? That Cas was going to reach out to him. Because what? He was wracked with grief over the death of his abusive, asshole father? But he had to be feeling something, right?

Maybe the problem was not that Cas wasn’t upset. Maybe he had just turned elsewhere for comfort. The thought made Dean insanely angry. Dean knew it was petty and selfish, but he couldn’t help it. Part of him hoped that if Cas was hurting that he did have someone to reach out to. But the other part wanted to disembowel Cas’ hypothetical companion. He kept imagining Cas in some faceless stranger’s tender arms, baring his soul to them while Dean lay awake in the dark, waiting for a stupid text message that wasn’t coming. His fucked up fantasy somehow evolved into Cas and faceless having incredibly acrobatic comfort sex.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean finally rolled over, grabbed his phone and pulled up Cas’ contact info. He clicked New Message.

_**I** **k** **now it’s late…** _

Dean typed, doing some quick math to see what time it was in Washington. It was still late in D.C. as well.

**_Just wanted to say I’m here if you need anything._ **

He pressed send.

Dean starred at the sent message for one panicked moment, wondering if that was the right thing to do. Maybe he should have just given Cas some space. He would have reached out to Dean if he’d wanted to talk to him, right? His heart stopped when he saw that Cas was already typing a response.

_**…** _

It took for-fucking-ever! A million things raced through Dean’s mind while he waited for Cas to reply. What was he typing? The fucking Gettysburg Address? He was probably thinking of a polite way to tell Dean that his compassion would probably be a little better appreciated at a more conventional hour.

**_Can you pick me up from the airport tomorrow?_ **

Dean hadn’t been expecting that.

**_Yeah! No problem._ **

He promptly replied.

**_Thank you. I’ll send details in the morning._ **

It was small, but it was something. Dean suddenly felt a little more hopeful. He wondered if he was right to feel that way.

…………………………

“How was your flight?” Dean asked, hoisting Cas’ luggage into the extended cab of his truck. He still had the Impala, but he only took her out on special occasions.

“Not bad,” Cas said. “Was traffic okay?”

“It was alright.” Dean shrugged. There was an awkwardness between them Dean wished he could shake. Or at least identify. Their natural chemistry was all messed up, and something felt strained. Dean didn’t know how to get from this ridiculous small talk to “So, do you want to talk about any super convoluted feelings you might be having about your dead, child molesting father?”

He thought of a thousand ways to bring it up, each one worse than the last. Instead he ended up saying nothing. They were on the highway before he realized he didn’t know where they were going.

“So are you staying at Dad’s,” Dean asked. “Or the Roadhouse? A hotel? What?”

Cas paled at the question. “I hadn’t got that far.” He timidly admitted.

Dean shrugged. “Hey, that’s no problem. I’ll just ring up Dad. You know you always have a bed at his house.”

That earned Dean a smile. Cas was still too polite to come right out and ask, but he knew he was always welcome under John Winchester’s roof. “Thanks,” He said. “That sounds perfect.”

Dean felt a little of that awkward tension melt away, but he still didn’t know how to handle this. And neither did Cas from the looks of it. Dean couldn’t remember the last time Cas had avoided eye contact with him so much. Dean tried to remember what it felt like when he and Cas had been close. He wondered how he could revive some of that. He got an idea.

“Hey, you hungry? We could swing by the Roadhouse and grab some grub?” Maybe seeing Ellen and Jo would be good for Cas. “I know it’s a little early for burgers, but I thought you might wanna see everybody. Jo’s little girl is getting real big. She can walk now.”

“That sounds great Dean, but…” Cas starred down into his lap, splaying his clasped fingers in an apologetic gesture. “I’m just kind of tired, and I don’t have much of an appetite.” He shrugged. “I’m not my best self right now, and I kind of want to be in a better place when I see the girls.”

Dean felt a pang in his chest. “I understand if you’re tired Cas, but you don’t have to put on a brave face for anybody. We’re your family, alright.”

Cas met his eyes for an instant, and completely broke down. He dropped his face into his hands and wept like Dean had never seen him do before. Dean pulled off the road and put the truck in park. He unbuckled his seatbelt and slid across the seat, pulling Cas into his arms. Dean wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but when Cas finally looked up at him, his eyes were red and puffy, but they were dry and clear.

……………………………………………

Cas knew how to tie his own tie, but he let John do it for him anyway. It was John’s way of being there for him. It was how he showed his affection to all of his boys. By quietly providing for their needs. He was good with words too. But his sons were notoriously hard of hearing, so he’d learned other ways of communicating his feelings to them. Sometimes with a firm smack to the back of the head. Sometimes by checking the oil in their cars. It all meant the same thing. I love you.

John tightened the knot of Cas’ tie and carefully folded down his collar. He punctuated the gesture with a warm smile. “You look good in a suit kid.” He said, stepping back to give Cas and a appraising once over. “Don’t know about the trench coat though,” He teased. “Kinda makes you look like Columbo.”

“Come on John,” Cas smirked. “You know I’m not old enough to know who that is.”

John Winchester pointed at Cas with a stern glare. “Hey! No old man jokes.” He said. “You’ve been back two days and I can already tell you’ve spent too much time with Dean.”

Cas felt his grin in his cheeks. It was an odd feeling. Smiling on the day of his father’s funeral. It felt both very wrong, and completely right. His emotions were a roiling well of confussion. He was starting to get deep into them when John called him out with a gentle voice.

“Listen son,” He said. “You’re gunna bury your father today. And whatever it is you’re feeling about that, I just want you to know, it’s okay to feel it. You don’t have to be ashamed, or afraid that it's  not right. Okay?” John’s eyes were soft, and knowing. Cas felt a lump rising in his throat. A tightness in his chest. John wrapped him in a warm protective hug. “Just remember, your father might be gone,” He said softly. “But your dad’s still here. Okay?”

………………………………………………………………….

The service was short and simple. There was no wake, or public viewing. Just a grave side memorial. Cas had gone to see Zachariah’s body at the mortuary the day before, but he hadn’t found it particularly cathartic. The closest thing to an emotional response Cas had at the funeral, was to find it ironic that there was a light rain at his father’s memorial service, and that everyone in attendance had multicolored umbrellas rather than the uniform black ones he’d always seen in movies. It was over fairly quickly and a small group of close friends were soon back at John’s house eating Casseroles brought over by sympathetic members of his congregation.

It was a crowd for the small house. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, her husband and baby. Sam had even come home. Eventually Bobby got a pit fire going in the back yard, and Ellen cracked the first beer. It somehow felt like a celebration, but not like any that Cas had ever attended before. Everyone was hashing up old memories, laughing and carrying on. Just celebrating life. It was actually rather fitting for a funeral. Only no one was celebrating Zachariah Novak’s life. They were all celebrating their own lives. And sharing it with friends.

That was the real tragedy of Cas’ father. He’d never had any real friends, as far back as Cas could remember. He wondered what sort of difference it might have made in his life. What sort of man might Zachariah Novak have been if he’d had friends like the Winchesters? Maybe he would have been kinder. Less angry. Less hateful and selfish. Maybe.

Dean was well into his fifth beer, and long out of his coat and tie when he plopped down next to Cas on the back porch swing. He agitatedly pulled at the buttons on his shirt, popping them open one at a time. “Never liked these stupid monkey suits.” He griped.

“Too bad,” Cas said. “It looked good on you.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed a bit, but he played it off with an irreverent snicker. “Yeah, okay.”

It felt good to be next to Dean again. His warmth, his scent. It brought Cas home. “I’ve missed you,” Cas heard himself say. It came out of his mouth before he could stop it. He kept his eyes locked on his feet, afraid to look over and see Dean’s reaction.

Cas felt calloused fingers lace through his own, where his hand rested on the swing between them. He looked up then. Dean didn’t say anything. He just smiled, took a drink of his beer, and gazed out into the night.

The hours wore on, and one by one everyone left except for Cas and the Winchesters. Sam, who was absurdly jetlagged, gave Cas a big hug, before turning in for the night. “Promise me we’ll go out for dinner,” He said. “Just the two of us, before we both fly off to opposite sides of the country.”

“You got it.” Cas promised.

“I’ve got to be heading out myself,” Dean said. “Benny’s been home by himself all day. Probably needs to piss somethin’ serious, if he hasn’t already wrecked my apartment. Problem is…” Dean took his keys out and jingled them. “I can’t drive, so one of you sober son’s a’bitches get to crash on my couch.”

“I’ve got it,” Cas said snatching Dean’s keys.

“None sense.” John said, retrieving his cellphone from his pocket. “You don’t have to do that Cas. I can call him a cab.”

“I don’t mind, Dad.” Cas said. “Dean owes me breakfast anyway.”

“Alright, but call me if you need anything. I’ll come pick you up if you decided you want to sleep in a real bed,” John said. “And text me when you get there.”

…………………………………………………….

There was a box sitting on the seat between Cas and Dean on the ride to Dean’s apartment. Dean let his hand rest on it, gently drumming his fingers over the top occasionally. There was a strange atmosphere about that ride that Cas couldn’t quite sort out. Also Dean was a lot more alert than he’d let on at John’s house. He didn’t need Castiel’s help getting up the steps, or out of his clothes. Though Cas had offered. In fact, the first thing he did after changing into his PJs was to pour himself a whiskey. 

“Want one?” Dean held up an extra glass in offering. Cas nodded, feeling a little nervous. There was still something heavy about the atmosphere. Something was on Dean’s mind, and Cas didn’t know why, but he was afraid of whatever it was. Dred filled him, like a heavy rock in the pit of his stomach. It was almost unbearable by the time Dean sat next to Cas and handed him his drink.

“There’s something you want to talk about,” Cas said, too anxious to wait for Dean to bring it up.

Dean took a drink of his whiskey, nodding into his glass. He cleared his throat, looking, Cas thought, somewhat nervous himself. “I’ve never been too good at saying the right thing.” Dean smirked. “Or doing the right things really. I just do what I can. Ya know?”

Cas nodded, but he didn’t know. He had no idea what this was.

“I just-“ Dean began. “I’ve wasted a lot of time, trying to find the right moment or…way to tell you. And every time I hesitated, the longer I waited, the more I realized it was going to hurt you, when you finally found out I’d been keeping it from you all this time. I’d get so scared thinkin’ about that until I’d just ran away from you altogether.”

The edges of Cas’ vision went blurry as he fought back the tears. Something gripped his chest like a vice. He started to realize what Dean was saying. The older man opened the box he’d been holding onto in the truck. Cas watched him pull out a tattered t-shirt covered in stains. Dean laid it in his lap and smoothed out the sleeve. Cas recognized his own bloody handprint, from the night he’d pulled Dean out of the wreckage. The night he’d tried to kill himself, and lost his brother instead. Silent tears rolled down his face. He felt them hot on his cheeks.

“I realized something,” Dean continued. “That you must be feeling the same way. Dying to tell me, but afraid I’d hate you. Like I was afraid you’d hate me. Well I don’t hate you. I’d understand if you hated me, but I don’t think you do.”

Cas didn’t know what to say. He had no words for what he felt. Relief? Shame? Unbearable grief. When he didn’t reply Dean spoke again, his voice cracked in pain.

“You don’t hate me, do you Cas?”

Cas finally met his eyes, and saw that there were tears in them too. He’d never really considered it until that very moment. Whether or not he should hate Dean Winchester. His mind flooded with all of the reasons he could have hated Dean. All the reasons it made since for him to. But he couldn’t.

“God no!” Cas said, vigorously shaking his head. He turned his face to wipe the tears on his sleeve. It was a futile effort. They continued to flow.

Cas wasn’t sure when Dean had moved across the couch, or how he’d ended up in his lap, face buried in his neck. But he knew where he was because his nose was filled with a long forgotten scent. Leather, sandalwood and engine grease.

He was home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize now that "If I don't finish this fic you may assume I am dead" was probably not the best thing to say before going on a three year hiatus.
> 
> I'm really so touched that I was still getting messages about this story that whole time, and it broke my heart that I felt I'd let you all down. A lot of things happened. Some good. Some not so good. Mostly just...life.
> 
> One of the main reasons I was gone is because I've been writing (and learning to become a better writer) largely in part thanks to the encouragement I received while writing this! If you ever liked or commented on this story, if you ever sent me a message of encouragement, then know that you've been instrumental in helping me pursue my dreams. 
> 
> I've been working really hard, and I hope to have something of my own published within the year. I'll defiantly let you all know how that does.
> 
> Again thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, so much for believing in this story, in me, and helping me believe in myself! 
> 
> All my love,  
> Annie!


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